


Supernatural Investigation Unit or SIU for short

by EllenPorter11



Category: Merlin (TV), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Curses, Dark Magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Empath!Athos, Hurt!Aramis, Hurt!Athos, Hurt!Porthos, Hurt!d'Artagnan, Magic, Nightmares, Police
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-01 19:10:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 80,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10928184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenPorter11/pseuds/EllenPorter11
Summary: If anyone asked team one of the SIU where it all began;d'Artagna would say with the murder of his father,Athos would say with the murder of his brother,Porthos would say with the murder of Marie de Medici,and Aramis would say with a sacrifice long forgotten.The world is shifting and villains are creeping out of the shadows. An enemie set on revenge has a plan and the means to follow it through.How can the inserperables fight back against one of their own?





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction so be gentle, but I would love feedback and tell me is there are any errors.

The Supernatural Investigation Unit, or SIU for short, deals with any supernatural crime and supernatural anomaly, that takes place in Paris, France. In Paris the there is a team known as the inseparables. The SIU recruits people, only humans or half-breeds, to represent the human race in the law against the supernatural. These people must have some kind of link with the supernatural, or have a ‘gift’ and the inseparable’s are no exception.

Their leader, Athos, is also known as the Captains second; who also had the misfortune of being born an empath. Athos ironically is the most unlikely empath d’Artagnan would have thought of the trio. Aramis always knew what people were thinking, it was a little creepy actually. Porthos was like a giant, cuddly bear; if he thought something was upsetting you, there was no way you could hide it from him. But Athos was like a statue frozen with a stoic face, is d’Artagnan didn't know better he would have thought the man unable to even blink.

Athos always wore an expression of indifference. After questioning the other two, he summarized that Athos kept his ‘gift’ locked away; the reason for locking away his gift was unknown. d’Artagnan was quite impressed when he found out; to lock away a gift from birth was considered extremely difficult. d’Artagnan had an unhealthy amount of respect for the man, since joining the SIU; Athos had been his role model.

Porthos, the largest of the renowned three, was well known in the rougher neighborhoods; and all d’Artagnan knew was that he joined the SIU after some sort of accident. The result was a type of aura seeing ability that developed; He doesn't talk about it nor use it if possible. d’Artagnan quite liked that Porthos had enough morals to not invade his or anyone elses privacy; and was ready to forgive him when he had unexpectedly given him a hug, he was having a bad day. However, the bad days had significantly lessened since being practically consumed by the inseparables, but they still made an appearance on an occasion; Porthos had apologized profusely when d’Artagnan had finished crying in his bear-sized hug. He knew the man had much less control over his ‘gift’ then Athos, and he couldn't blame him for that. As kind hearted as Porthos is, d’Artagnan had seen him training with Aramis a few times, and honestly Porthos was extremely intimidating when he wanted to be. Then again he had seen the big man, watch movie’s with them and stroke Aramis’s hair till the petulant man fell asleep. He was just glad he was on Porthos’s side.

Aramis was extremely private about his reasons for joining the SIU, which was very uncharacteristic considering d’Artagnan had been with the inseparables for less than 3 weeks and he’s seen Aramis naked quite a few times, more times than he would like. In fact, if he could he would find some spell to erase them from his memory permanently. But he’s pretty sure Treville wouldn't consider it a necessary use of the SIU’s witch’s or yearly spell allowance. 

All d’Artagnan knew was it wasn't any sort of ‘gift’, and he’s almost certain that he’s not a half breed as it was usually easy to determine a half’s origins. The selection of supernatural creatures that could actually breed with humans was very limited, and there identifying characteristics were pretty obvious, - e.g. half fairy had unnatural eye colour, and half elf’s had pointy ear and where usually obnoxious bastards from D’artagnan’s limited experience. Therefore, they had to have at least one characteristic of their none human part. He had spent a whole weekend researching the subject, at the end of it, he had deduced that Aramis was half incubus, it fitted. Aramis always had a new ‘lady friend’ and could pick up women in any situation, it was as if he was born to do it. 

When he had gone to Porthos for his confirmation, Porthos had laughed in his face and told him that it was a pretty good guess. So d’Artagnan set a plan, he had managed to infiltrate Aramis and Porthos’s apartment and insisted he had drunk too much to drive home. Being the lovely person Porthos was, the couch had been offered to him in a heart beat. He waited till Aramis was asleep before creeping into his bedroom and placing the reveal-charm he had gotten off of Constance the previous day. To his immense disappointment, nothing happened. Aramis didn't morph to his ‘true’ demon appearance.

Aramis woke when d’Artagnan had tried to climb off of his bed and tripped, landing on a heap on the carpet. Aramis had laughed when he tried to explain his reason for entering his room uninvited. Aramis had said, “My bed is always open to you d’Artagnan, all you had to do is ask.” While lounging very openly on his bed. 

d’Artagnan had scuttled out of his room red faced, with another strike on the ‘naked Aramis tally'. The next day Athos had pulled him aside and told him that neither he nor Porthos knew why Aramis had joined the SIU and had implored d’Artagnan to stop trying to find out. This was also accompanied with a lecture on privacy and warning that Aramis was not a man D’artagnan wanted to get on the bad side of; so he had left it at that. Athos’s word was final, and he didn't want to try his patience of any of the three.

d’Artagnan, himself, had arrived on the SIU’s doorstep after being urged to go to from his diseased father. d’Artagnan had screamed like a little girl when his father's ghost had turned up on his doorstep on the first full moon after his death.

d’Artagnan hadn't been doing well after his only parental figure was murdered. The police told him vampires had been the culprits, and that there was an odd amount of spiritual disturbance at the scene. They had asked him hundreds of questions about Alexander d’Artagnan and his ‘enemies’ of which d’Artagnan had told them his father had had none. The police had found forget-me-not’s scattered around the crime scene; this had no meaning to d’Artagnan and he told them just that. The vampires in question still hadn't been found.

The three weeks after Alexanders death that lead up to his father's appearance at his front door, was odd, to say the least. d’Artagnan hadn't had much experience with the supernatural after all his small childhood village was sleepy and full of farmers. Before, he had never even shown an interest in the supernatural, let alone be confronted by one. For the three weeks leading to the full moon, d’Artagnan had seen, been confronted, threatened and seduced by all manner of supernatural creatures and beings. And frankly, he had had enough. 

He fathers appearance had been surprising, but looking back on it, it was not unexpected. His father had told him to speak to the people at the SIU, and that he was in danger. It was all rather sudden, and d’Artagnan had burst into tears.

After traveling to Paris and talking to the people at the SIU, he found himself with a job, friends, a cozy room at the rather beautiful Constance’s home and a supernatural link he really didn't want.

His link fell into the soul category - the most common of links and most unexplainable due to every soul individuality and that not much is known about souls to begin with.- and had some sort of attraction quality. Constance had explained it as a supernatural magnet, it made him more noticeable to supernatural beings and a sort of energy source for spirits, in short, he was a supernatural target. 

Thankful or possibly regrettable Treville had put him with the inseparables for his training period, because as Treville said ‘They need some god damn responsibility.’. d’Artagnan could hardly disagree, they acted like children one minute and psychopaths the next. It was definitely going to be an interesting few months till his training period was over.


	2. Chapter 2, The new recruit

Chapter 2 - The New Recruit

Athos sat on their captain’s finest leather chair, his feet perched on top. Treville’s mouth is in a grim line as his eyes glare determined daggers at his second in command. Athos’ behaviour would usually not be tolerated, but both men knew that because of what Treville was asking, Athos could probably get away with murder, right this second.

“Athos at least look at his files before you scare him off.” Treville requested. His usual demanding voice, that all commanders possess, was replaced with an almost pleading one. 

“It’s not me you need to be begging.” Athos started, then paused to look out of Treville’s office window at his two teammates. Aramis and Porthos had a way of making every training officer that Treville assigned to them, run off or demand to be placed on a different team that ‘wasn't suicidal’. It is true that team one has a rather opinionated reputation for their unorthodox methods.

Athos sighed and stretched his hand out. Treville took Athos’s invitation to take the trainees file with optimism and just a few grains of salt. Athos substituted his slouched position for a more rigid upright one with both feet on the floor and he began reading the files.

The kid’s name was d’Artagnan, young and ambitious. He dropped out of the police academy in his third and final year after the murder of his father. Athos suddenly knew why Treville had been nervous about giving Athos the kid’s files. Athos sighed audibly, loud enough for Treville to hear on the other side of his desk.  
“Keep reading. He was the best in all his classes.” Treville spoke calmly, knowing instantly what Athos was up to when he voiced his opinion. If this really was a problem, Treville could just order them to take on the new recruit, but the boys seemed to get their own way eventually, even if that meant hanging him out of the upstairs window, then calling it fun and declaring that they do it all the time like they did to their last recruit; he only lasted two weeks. 

The poor kid was lucky enough to have not fallen and broken anything and requested to be separated from team one in not so polite words. Athos would agree that they needed to fill the position just to give the team an even amount of responsibility. All teams in the SIU were groups of 4, to even out the workload. The problem with his team was that they didn't possess an ounce of maturity.

Athos continued to read. The kid had a supernatural link connected to the ‘attraction’ of supernatural beings and creatures. It was certainly an odd link, Athos had never seen one like it before. But then again, very little was known about links in general.

Athos closed the files and turned his glare to his captain. They stayed like that for a moment, both judging the young d’Artagnan for his youth and inexperience. Athos decided on the ‘what could go wrong’ principle.

“Let’s see if I can persuade the giant and the fool to not cause any bodily harm this time,” Athos said while standing up. The conversation was over, team one has got a new trainee and Treville prayed as Athos walked out of his office, that the kid has better luck than the others over the past years.

 

—

 

Athos walked down the steps which lead to Treville’s office and onto the Garrison’s main bullpen where his team was waiting for him in the lunch room.  
Athos walked up to the table where the other two had commandeered. They silently followed him up to the privet office they all shared; Aramis still engrossed with whatever app he was playing on. Porthos guided him gently with one hand on his best friends arm.

Upon their arrival, he wasn't surprised when Aramis jumped up on top of Porthos’s desk and was now sitting cross-legged surrounded by Porthos’s paperwork still playing his new game. Porthos moved to his desk, and sat in his chair, ignoring Aramis’s shoes getting mud on the top-most papers.

Aramis looked up from his phone upon Athos closing the oak doors. his small smile turned into a generous, large grin as his eyes met Athos’s as if the Spaniard had been completely oblivious to him the whole walk up here and only just realized Athos was in his company. 

Athos’s mouth twitched at its corners. Aramis just had a way of doing that to people, his infectious optimism could often be overwhelming but was always welcomed. It also often made Aramis look a little crazy, that coupled with his usually stupid and complete lack of self-preservation based decisions made him look insane; he probably was a little, to be honest. 

“Sooo?” Aramis started, his curiosity of Athos’s allusiveness, summons to Treville’s office imminent in his voice. “Have we got a new case?”

Athos opened his mouth to speak when Porthos added. “No, we’ve got a new, green trainee don' we.” Porthos’s voice echoed through the silence of their working space. Athos looked to Aramis, making his face stoic.

“When do they get here then?” Aramis said turning his eyes to Athos, a small smile on his lips. Athos couldn't quite tell if he was faking it, or maybe he too realized that it was time to take a chance.

“Should be here tomorrow,” Athos replied while trading glances with Porthos.

“To the Wren then, might’ as well get pissed to celebrate,” Porthos said while packing up loose sheets that looked important.They didn't really need a reason to get drunk or go to the Wren, especially for Athos. 

 

—

 

Once they arrived they drunk a few drinks together, before Porthos could restrain himself no more and headed for the card game in the corner while Aramis flirted hopelessly with the barmaid. Athos moved to a table in the corner away from most of the occupants and ordered two more drinks for himself and began drinking. Athos examined the bar's occupants, mostly human, a few vamps were at the main bar and three Red Guards - a unit similar to the musketeers on paper, but in practice they were a bunch of cowards - sitting playing cards with Porthos. 

Undoubtedly tonight was going to end in a bar fight, Athos could see it already. If not from Porthos’s dishonest tactic in cards, then a gentleman most likely angered by Aramis flirting with their lady. Athos just hoped he would be drunk enough by the time it kicked off to be able to deal with it and to be sober enough to be able to explain the bruises to Treville tomorrow morning.

A few hours later Athos watched as Porthos stood from his spot at the cards table and conversed with what looked to be a Red Guard across from him. A few threatening and insulting words later, Athos watched as Aramis launched himself from his position on the bar stool, directly at the Red Guard. Athos got up from his seat as there was no way he would let his brother fight alone. Treville was going to be very angry come tomorrow morning.

 

—

 

If Treville’s stares could kill, team one would have all been murdered a very, very long time ago. The air in the seemingly cramped office seemed to be stiflingly silent and almost punishment enough with Treville fuming from behind his old wooden desk. He seemed to be too angry for words.

“Damage?” He spoke out of a tight jaw, not having enough strength to contain his anger to produce a full sentence; but the question was obvious. 

Aramis shuffled to his right, fidgeting and hopping from one foot to the other. Aramis being told off by Treville made him act like a child - nervous, big-eyed and almost at tears. Porthos on the other hand, stood tall to Aramis’s right, wearing his split lip and black eye with what could almost be described as pride. Treville’s glare stopped his satisfaction from a good fight show on his mouth in the form of a grin. 

“Just a few small cuts and bruises.” Replied Athos, before one of the two idiots could make this worse than it already was.

Treville’s relief was hard to see, but it was there all the same. If anyone asked, Treville didn't play favorites, but the inseparables - despite their infuriating ability to cause and find trouble - held a special place in his heart. One where he thinks sons would be as his worry was sufficient enough to warrant them that position.

Treville huffed, his anger began to boil over. “ TWO Red Guards put out of commission. One due to a shattered wrist and another with four cracked ribs and a concussion.” He bellowed across the desk. Aramis shuddered at the sudden boom of Treville’s voice. He had the voice that could make criminals stop in their place, it was that filled to the top with authority. Aramis eyed the floor before looking at Treville, opening his mouth then quickly shutting it again at the sight of the captain's glare. 

It was technically Aramis’s fault that the bar fight started, but everything from when the bar fight ended at about 12am from about 3 am was due to a little abuse of alcohol on all parties involved. Neither of the other two would let Aramis take the blame.

“If it were up to me, you three would be on petrol for the rest of the week.” Treville’s barking was not helping his hangover, Athos thought to himself. He’d thought that he could handle his drink through years of trying to drown himself in a bottle every night for a few years.

He looked at the best-friends with sympathy. Porthos had a stomach for drinking but still had drunk the most out of the three; which had him pass out on Athos’s apartment floor before he had even closed the door. Aramis didn't often drink past the tipsy point, but drunk Porthos seemed to have the most fun with drunk Aramis. Thus Porthos practically poured copious amounts of alcohol down Aramis’s throat, resulting on Aramis standing on the edge of a five-story apartment block thinking it would be fun to try and jump to the next building over. Athos could remember the evening surprising clearly, Aramis proposing he was going to jump from ledge to ledge probably sobered him up pretty fast. 

Somewhere along the way, Athos lost his shoe and Porthos gained a melon, which then started a whole new set of drunken games. But he knew for a fact that Aramis and Porthos had only snippets or just black for the most of the night, and this all happened after the bar fight and on the walk back to Athos’s apartments.

“Porthos, Aramis go get cleaned up, your new trainee will be here any moment,” Treville growled out, obviously still seething with anger and wanting to punish them. Fortunately for them, they had cases that needed their attention. Athos waited for the other two to leave before sitting down on one of the chairs.

“Athos, why can't you three just stay out of trouble.” Treville sighed, not really expecting an answer.

“I think trouble finds us whether we are looking for it or not,” Athos replied dryly. 

“That seemed to be the case doesn't it, and is there anything I should be worrying about.”  
Athos shook his head in response, they had luckily got out of the fight relatively unscathed, bruises didn't count, Athos mused. 

“I spoke with the captain of the Paris police, and the Red Guards aren’t pressing charges. Thankfully.” Everyone was afraid of Treville down at the regular police station, as well as the Red Guards.

Treville sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“Go, and don't scare this one off.” Athos left to meet the trainee.

\- 

“ Wait, wait, wait. That was why you lot were covered in bruises, because of a bar fight?” d’Artagnan still seemed to be in a bit of shock.

“You just casually get into bar fights then?” d’Artagnan exclaimed. Porthos opens his mouth to defend himself, but d’Artagnan wasn't finished.

“How have I survived three months already? What have I signed up for?” No one seemed to be able to give him an answer.

The rest of the night continued in a similar fashion, d’Artagnan would ask questions and the others would regale the younger man with ridicules stories. It ended with them all asleep on the couch, bundled up together. Aramis had caved first, he had curled up next to Porthos and drifted off to sleep. Next was Porthos, he soothed himself to sleep by running his fingers through Aramis’s hair. 

d’Artagnan tried but couldn't hold down much longer, then after Porthos and Athos had guided the younger man to his spot next to Aramis; the kid fell asleep surprisingly fast. The kid had seamlessly fit into their little gang. He was now one of the brothers and Athos wasn't sure how he felt about that. The other two could take care of themselves if the situation called for it. But d’Artagnan seemed so innocent and vulnerable in his youth and Athos couldn't ignore the knowledge that he was only a few years younger then Thomas had been when he……

The fact that d’Artagnan reminded Athos so much of his younger brother, made Athos feel vulnerable himself. It sparked fear in the older man’s heart. He wouldn't survive it again. 

Athos stayed up guarding his team. It was the amount of alcohol he had drank earlier, and that consuming feeling that made him think like this and he knew it. He knew there was no threat, but he couldn't afford to leave his brothers vulnerable. After a few hours, he to drifted of to a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few chapters will be a little disjointed, but it's just setting the scene for the main plot.
> 
> Thank you all for commenting and hits and stuff. :)


	3. Scotland, Spain and Germany

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I was on a school trip all week, on an island with no reception or internet. This chapter is kind of short but another one will be up very very soon.

Athos walked through the double doors leading into the inseparables office. The office's occupants were all doing a differing away of things, none, Athos noted where partially productive. 

“ Gentlemen, and I use that term loosely. We have a case.” 

Athos was met with a set of light brown and two sets of dark brown eyes. All displaying different levels of curiosity and relief of finally having something to do. They hadn't been assigned a case for a week and all members of the patchwork office were itching for some action, some more worryingly so.

“ Three women have gone missing over the last two weeks, each woman where tourists from differing places. One from Spain, another from Scotland and the last was from Germany. Treville is being hounded by all three embassies. If nothing comes up in the next three days then the foreign police will get involved.” There was a chorus of moans at the mentions of outside police coming in. It never looked good having other countries police doing their work as well as the tension between the different agencies about how the worked. Most countries shunned people with links, it was worse for halve-breeds and people who were cursed. France lets these people have equal rights unlike a lot of other countries. 

“ What makes this an SIU case? Isn't this something more for missing persons.” d’Artagnan piped up.

“ This morning the German woman was found in an alley on the outskirts of Paris. Her body had been exsanguinated, there was no blood at the scene.” There was a pause, will everyone thought the same thing. Vampires “ All of the women were last seen at a pub in south Banlieue. We have one witness who saw our Spanish woman leave the pub at 11:45 pm will a dark haired man. Aramis, Porthos I want you two to go and talk to them, see if you can find anything else out, we need more.” Athos received two nods one from Aramis and the other from Porthos, d’Artagnan waited for his assignment. 

“ d’Artagnan and I will go to the crime scene, the Parisian police are holding it for use and you know how impatient they can be. Let find whoever is doing this.” 

 

-

 

This wasn't d’Artagnan’s first murder crime scene, but he couldn't ever see himself getting used to it. Athos crouched over the body of the German woman, she was pretty, dark hair, blue eyes that were still open. d’Artagnan suddenly felt quite sick. 

d’Artagnan wanted this to be a case for the normal detectives, but the bite mark, a stark red against the victim's bloodless skin was confirmation enough. Truthfully d’Artagnan didn't want to ever meet a vampire. They had a sort of elegance to their malicious nature. Most of the older vampires immortality had taken away and morals they had had in their former lives, to them there is no right or wrong just what they want and how to get it. They mad being a human seem so demeaning, because as a human you are beneath them. If they wanted they could snap you in two in a blink of an eye and you'd be utterly helpless. It was safe to say that he had a rational fear of this particular supernatural being and seeing the product of their nature right infant of him, made bile burn his throat.

d’Artagnan shuffle from foot to foot, suddenly realising that Athos had been speaking while he was imagining getting his throat ripped out. “ Sorry, what? Can you repeat that please?” 

Athos looked up at him from his position over the victim, his face unreadable. “ I was saying that there is no sign of a struggle, which means that she was likely drugged or the Vamp is old enough to use hypnosis.”

“ Yes, right, yes.” d’Artagnan managed to get out, stumbling over his words like an idiot. There was no way Athos hadn't seen that. If d’Artagnan could he would kick himself right now. 

Athos stood slowly and placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder before guiding him out of the ally, under the police tape and just to the side where a nice book shop stood. 

Shame took over the younger man. d’Artagnan feared his mentor disappointment. He refused to meet Athos’s eyes as he spoke, “ Athos, I'm sorry I just.…” 

“ It's fine d’Artagnan. Trust me, vampires have every right to be feared and after you fathers murder… I understand if you'd prefer to sit this one out.” Athos spoke calmly and oddly understanding.

“ N-no I want to be here, really.” 

“ Good I was hoping so.” Athos gave him small smile, which d’Artagnan new was worth a lot.

“ But vampires, are they really the worst of the worst?” d’Artagnan questioned, he was internally praying they had some kind of weakness and he would prefer not to trust any of the myths and ledgers that surrounded them.

Athos took a moment to think. “ I'm not going to lie to you d’Artagnan, they are worthy of being feared. Iv seen one of my closest friend been hypnotised and then drunk from.” Athos paused again, lost in some memory. His eyes darkened at the thought “ He almost died of blood loss, and if he had done that vamp had made sure that he would turn. But what I have learned from them is that in groups its virtually impossible to get away, but on their own, they can be manageable. Yes, they are fast but not as fast as you would think if you're at a good distance then you can get a few shots in before the reach you. Aim for the head, it will keep them down long enough for you to call back up.” 

d’Artagnan nodded taking in all of the information, good they had a weakness that didn't involve him carrying an axe or a stake around with him. “ Your friend? What happened to them? Were they okay in they end?”

Athos couldn't help a small smile at that. He spoke as he walked to the car, “ He's a little insane, but I think Aramis had always been like that.”

d’Artagnan knew there was a story there, but the was Athos had gotten lost in thought early just by thinking it, felt it wasn't that time to ask.

 

-

 

Porthos had driven to the witness’s house, having enough self-preservation not to let Aramis behind the wheel, especially in his beloved car Porthos has had since he was 19. Porthos was quite happy to drive on the particular occasion, his thoughts kept turning to the last case they had about vampires, the Doaby case.

Porthos also know Aramis was thinking of the same thing through the way his aura kept fluctuating. One second it was normal, the next Aramis’s aura told Porthos that the Spaniard was nerves. Aramis wasn't one for fear, but when he was lying there bleeding to death 6 years ago Aramis was afraid then, terribly so. Porthos was thankful for the distraction of driving right this second. He really didn't want to think about Aramis being in the hospital for two weeks because he wouldn't wake up, the doctors didn't think he ever would. Porthos didn't want to think about how terrified he had been or how scared Athos had been either.

Porthos pulled into the driveway of a pristine white house, rose bushes lined the drive and under the curtained windows. The witness was meant to be a 26-year-old male, who apparently show up on the police officer interviewing him and then spilling his drink down his out shirt. He glanced at Aramis beside him in the passenger seat, the question clear.

Aramis pulled up his phone, checking the address, then shrugged and got out of the car. Well, Porthos thought, if the guy wanted to plant rose bushes and repaint his house every for weeks then so be it.

Porthos follow Aramis up the white steps, actually feeling a little bad for the few grains of dirt that have come of his shoes. Aramis knocks on the doors and they wait.


	4. Spain, Scotland, Germany and now France

Chapter 4

Something wasn't right about the pristine living room they both now sat in. A woman had answered the door, with greying hair, a floury apron and a too large smile. And now they waited for her son ( Ames Marchand ) to come home. They had been served tea that neither had drunk. 

The whole house seemed to be spotless. It had a sense of false perfection in its lack of natural mess that came from living. The books were all the same height and looked too new in the polished, unmarked bookcase. Aramis wondered if the books had ever even been opened before, their spines where creaseless. 

Porthos beside him was nerves. The usual loose way that he would sit was gone. He sat stiff, alert. Anyone who didn’t know Porthos would think he was just being professional, but Aramis wasn't just anyone and he KNEW Porthos. His best-friend had been eyeing him all through the car ride here thinking that Aramis was unaware of it, but he was. He knew the big man was just concern about him, and Aramis tried to reassure him by acting normal. But the woman in front of them was just staring and smiling and Porthos was taking this as a threat, Aramis was inclined to think the same.

Her stare made his skin itch, and the slight glint in her eyes spoke of an unawareness that wasn't natural. Aramis gulped, the unnatural perfection of his surroundings made him feel like such a fault in whatever plan was set out for the world like he really didn't belong here. This place was too perfect, too unblemished to be normal. He could tell by Porthos’s lack of communication and how tense the big man was, that his best friend thought the same.

This orchestrated ideal of a really home was too obviously staged, they needed to leave.

Marie - Ames’s mother - sat across from them just staring and smiling and Aramis was thoroughly creeped out. He lifted his still full cup of tea and pretended to sip it while using it to conceal a glance at Porthos to his right.

Porthos glance back and with a small nod of his head, they both agreed silently that they should probably get out of there.

“This tea is lovely Mademoiselle,” Aramis subconsciously rubbed his hand over where his collarbone met his neck. Porthos watch him knowing that the two needle-like scares where virtually invisible unless you knew they were there. “but I'm afraid my partner and I must be going.” Aramis’s voice had a slight Spanish accent to it that he would never loose, but was much more prominent when he was nerves or stressed. They needed to leave before Ames came home. and their exit was locked off.

They both stood to leave, just as the front door opened. In unison, they both sat back down.

-

Porthos nor Aramis had called to confirm the witness report. So he set d’Artagnan up with a laptop in the break-room, sifting through the vampire records for a male, tall dark brown hair, in Paris. So far they had over a thousand hits and not much luck in cutting that number down.

The problem was that the blood bank that supplied all the vampires in Paris was being uncooperative, and not wanted to reveal any of their clients. The manager that he just got off the phone with was the sickly sweet type, and it just made Athos want to punch the man even more. 

He sat down hard at his desk. Why can't people just be cooperative? 

Athos’s mind went to the youngest of their team. The lad had been jittery all morning and Athos couldn't dismiss the why to it. The whelp was facing the demons that had killed his father and out of some twisted sense of righteousness, finding the murder and kidnapper could release some of the guilt that weighed heavily on the youth's shoulders. 

Athos watched as d’Artagnan sipped the cup of coffee that Athos had brought him. Athos knew the continual caffeine upkeep was probably a bad decision, but the lad seemed helpless lost amongst the sheer number of suspects and the coffee, as invigorating as it was, was an excuse for Athos to check on him. He had a pain numbing compulsion to led the pup know he wasn't angry at his fault earlier on at the crime scene. The lads puppy dog eyes had forced out a protective brother side of Athos that he had buried save for Aramis and Porthos and with fear that he held tight to his chest, he had let himself care for his new younger brother without even realising it till d’Artagnan had looked afraid and sick at the crib scene and Athos felt the need to protect rise.

Looking over at the youth now, he could tell the lad needed a brother. d’Artagnan had travelled across France and in a few short months, he had gained three. Athos was pretty sure the lad didn't know it either.

-

Ames came and sat down next to his mother. He smiled at the two SIU agent, it was just like his mothers, wrong.

“Ames Marchand, I presume,” Aramis spoke, then gestured to himself and Porthos. “We are from the SIU, we just wanted to follow up on your witness report from the 23ed of this month.” Aramis hid his unease behind professionalism with practised ease.

Ames stared blankly back at them. “ It was last Friday.” Aramis supplied in hopes of a response. 

“ Right, yes yes, last Friday.” Ames nodded.

“ You told the police at the scene you saw a man with dark brown hair with a woman that matched our description.” Porthos took over. 

“ Yes, yes. A man with dark hair.” Ames parroted back. His posture spoke of confidence that his voice didn't hold. 

“ Anything else you might want to add?”

“ The man was tall. The man had dark hair.” 

Aramis frowned at the man's odd behaviour “Right, you have already said that. Is there anything else?” 

“ The man was tall. The man had dark hair.” 

Porthos scanned the odd man before him. He found what he was looking for before he even realised that he was looking for it. There, in the groove of his neck was two white dots, a new scare. Porthos knew from experience that Vampire bites heal quickly but always scard. Aramis’s had slowed due to the amount of bloodless but still healed faster than normal. 

Now that Porthos knew this man was connected he ran his eyes over other spots vamps were likely to attack, and he was not pleased with what he found. On Ames left wrist were more bites, these ones newer, and just under his right wrist was the white of a bandage. 

Shit, he thought. The odd behaviour made sense now. Both occupancies of the couch opposite the two agents were compelled - vampire hypnosis - and whoever was kidnapping and killing the tourists was smart but not smart enough to compel the people in front of him to actually act natural. 

Suddenly the too clean house made sense, and he could have kicked himself for not realising sooner. Vampires liked cleanliness, and their human puppets to do their bidding. It was so painfully obvious now he knew, that the Marchands where under hypnosis. 

Their behaviour was different to the only other time Porthos had seen someone hypnotised - Aramis - and he wondered how many times that it had been done to this family to take away every part of who they were before. A vampire couldn't compel someone to do something they otherwise wouldn't do. But that rule could be twisted and shaped to suit the vampire.  
For example; Aramis would have never kissed that vampire back, in his right mind, but somewhere deep down Aramis found the vampire attractive, thus the vampire moulded that passing thought into a form of love and Aramis would do anything for love. 

And that's what Porthos hated most about these dead things, they had no respect for someone's emotions, it meant nothing to them. They would twist it and mutilate it into something that wasn't there enough, to begin with, and that bastard Rochefort had done that to his best friend. Even if Aramis was only compelled for a few minutes, the effects would be life long, they why he twitched when vampires are even mentioned to start. The Marchands had been compelled for much longer, Porthos doubted they would survive without their manipulator now.

Aramis’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He realised Aramis had been trying to get more information out of Ames while Porthos had been examining the Marchands. 

“ Okay. ‘Mis I think it's time we got back to the Garrison, don't you?” Porthos grabbed Aramis’s arm as he stood, ready to drag him out of that house. Porthos gave his best friend a very pointed stare. Aramis seemed to get the message a began to rise.

“ Emm, yes Porthos I think it is. Thank you again, Mademoiselle, for the tea. And thank you, Ames, for all you help.” Aramis quickly spoke, before following Porthos to the door.

Porthos guided Aramis to the car, not willing to let his friend out of his sight.  
This vampire had made a very stupid mistake. Porthos couldn't wait to get his hands of them.

-

d’Artagnan slammed his laptop down with frustration. That woman had died, probably scared out of her mind and he couldn't find any decent leads. Athos had popped in every now and again to see if he had anything on their vamp, he didn't and he really hated telling his mentor every time he came in. 

d’Artagnan could her the grumpy man's footsteps down the hall steadily growing louder. Athos had been more grumpy than usual and d’Artagnan thought it had something to do with Aramis’s vampire attack. 

He listed to the door open and dreaded the question Athos was going to ask, again. 

“ Pathos texted.” Athos voice echoed through the office as the older man walked over to the pup. It took d’Artagnan a moment to realise what Athos had just said.

“ The witness was definitely compelled, so our murderer has to be connected to the Marchands somehow. Porthos said our suspect is probably a woman.”

d’Artagnan was already typing before Athos had finished speaking. They had something finally a lead, something tangible other than a dead body. d’Artagnan worked ferociously at his keyboard, this was something he could do. The other, d’Artagnan found after a few weeks into his traineeship, could use their phones but had immense difficulty using the Garrisons suspect teach engines. To their credit, they were tricky to manoeuver due to a number of supernatural beings, creatures, links, gifts and curses. But he had mastered it early on and the team had praised him for his mundane skill of using a search engine and relied on it quite regularly. 

Athos came back half an hour later to find the pup had found three possible suspects, one of which looked particularly promising. Athos sent the other two the address of one of the suspect while he and d’Artagnan went to Marie de Medici home.

-

Marie de Medici home was grand in the way most vampires liked to present themselves and their property. Flirting it around with a grace unlatch by any mortal.

Marie de Medici had answered the door herself and Athos wondered if she knew they were coming. Her eyes skimmed over Athos in a dismissal way that spoke of her opinion of a measly human knocking at her door. But her gaze stayed of d’Artagnan a little too long and her tongue slipped out of her bright red lips to run along her fangs. Athos held up his badge as if a real shield that would protect him and his charge against the undead creature before him.

She waved her arm a little dramatically through the door, welcoming them as if they where prestigious guests rather than pitiful mortals.

The icy marble pillars and priceless antiques imposed a sense of cold and it was easy to see death lived in this house rather than the living. The building had a bland rawness to it that reminded Athos of his own childhood home. He shivered at the memories it brought.

He needed to focus, he told himself. He pushed aside the daunting memories of his wife, brother and the cursed building that now sat in ruin due to the vacant home it has become. The house now sat unattended on its hill in the distant countryside, filled with the ghosts of loving memory that Athos had left there. Only taking the few important facts away with him when he moved to Paris, in search of some self-sacrificing gestured he could perform to rid himself of the cursed memories that wouldn't leave him be.

Focus he told himself.

Aramis and Porthos had slowly but surely dragged him back from his self-loathing state. Kicking and screaming as he was, they had done it, dragged his sorry ass from the brink and know he had them - two brothers - to show for it.

Focus he told himself again.

Marie de Medici led them through the richly decorated rooms to a lounge with plush red couches. Marie de Medici sat stiffly on one of the couches without her usual grace that all vampires possessed. She motioned for them to sit opposite her. 

“ So what can I do for Paris’s finest?” She spoke smoothly with a slight hiss like the snake she was. 

Her finesse slipped as she eyed d’Artagnan, a hungry desire overtook her eyes. The vampire had fed from fresh blood recently, not the bagged stuff the government supplied. She was craving her next fix. As she eyed the pup, Athos felt his skin cruel from her vicious lust for the younger man. 

Her hunger was understandable as it's commonly known that vampires are continuously hungry, but the glint in her eye spoke of uncontainable thirst that she was struggling to control. Her fingers gripped the armrest she so casually laid across. Her face, a picture of indifference, but her eyes were bright and held savagery that Athos would deny he feared. They had their murderer. The two other tourists were probably somewhere in the building. 

Athos glanced at d’Artagnan to his right, hopefully relaying his conclusion of the woman before them. He stood slowing. “ I just need to make a phone call.” He said then walked out to the patio and called Porthos.

Porthos picked up on the second ring. “ Hey Athos, we’ve got nothing here. I think …..” 

“ Yes I know, I'm pretty sure we have her. I'm gonna need backup.” Athos interrupted him before he could finish.

A pause.

“ Okay we’re on are way, just text me the address. And don't do anything stupid till we get there okay ?” 

“ yes, yes I'll keep the pup sa….”  
A crash from inside the house could his attention, he turned back and stared through the glass patio doors. The lounge inside looked normal, quite.

“ Athos, you still there?” Athos heard through the phone still pressed to his ear. He opened his mouth to assure the big man that all was well. But before he could, a stifled yell came through the slight gap between the doors that he had left ajar. 

d’Artagnan

Athos didn't think as he dropped his phone to pull his gun from his holster on his waist. Distantly he could register Porthos still screaming through the technology to know what was going on. His focus was on the room just beyond the doors. 

Athos reached for the handle, slightly disgusted at the lines of fear he could see in his reflection in the glass. As he pulled the door open he was confronted the image that would be burned into his brain, right along a similar image of Aramis and Rochefort.

Marie de Medici had d’Artagnan by the throat. Her petite body would have been completely hidden behind the pup if it weren't for her heels that just added to her power. She held him up with one arm across his throat. Athos didn't know where the blood started and the lipstick began. Her blood stained lips were in perfect view of the bite mark on d’Artagnan’s too pale neck. The pups shirt was red on one side and he swayed despite the Vampire holding her up.

The thing people get wrong about vampire attacks was that they weren't neat like in the films. They were messy. The wound could not be magically closed, it would need stitches and soon. The bite went deep into the artery or vein if you're lucky. d’Artagnan did get lucky, if she had bite among for the artery, he would have bleed all over the expense carpet.

“ Put him down, Marie.” Athos thanked Aramis’s God that his voice didn't shack like his hands were. But Athos was no fool, he knew that a vampire would pick up on his shaking hands and erratic heartbeat. 

“ Iv never tasted a human more exquisite than this.” She whispered across the room, pulling at Athos’s anger. “ I couldn't resist him the moment I could smell him.” She hissed the last word. 

Her words spoke the truth that Athos should have realised sooner. d’Artagnan attracted the supernatural, why would a blood hungry vampire be any different? 

“ Put. him. down.” He didn't yell, he didn't need to. His prestigious upbringing and his parents nursing him to be head of the family business at a young age made his voice full of authority. Screaming at the woman would just be entraining for her.

She giggled all the same and lowered her head down onto d’Artagnan’s neck for another drink. Her eyes stayed on Athos the whole time. d’Artagnan gasped and his eyes went wide with obvious pain, his body tense under her hold. In response, Athos raised his gun higher, level to her head. 

Athos wished Aramis’s was here just to fire his weapon. He cursed his own inaccuracy with a pistol.  
She pulled away laughing like she was high off of the stolen substance. d’Artagnan sagged against her and breathed too heavily, the blood loss was starting to take effect. she ducked behind d’Artagnan, who swayed again. Her own weakness now hid behind d’Artagnan’s head.

d’Artagnan sent a pleading glance to his mentor, but Athos couldn't do anything. He was trapped. d’Artagnan swayed again, unable to keep his footing now that most of his blood had been consumed or covered his shirt. 

Athos hated the fear that he could feel slowly start to consume him. d’Artagnan was slowly bleeding out and the bitch had a human shield till that happened. Athos wouldn't let that happen. Not again, he wouldn't lose another brother. Not again.

d’Artagnan court his eye again, this time less panicked, the stubborn kid that through his way into their lives, was back and seemingly with a plan. Their few months of strategic planning had paid off. With a few pointed glances and teamwork like no other, the plan was sort of set in place. 

In one fluid movement, d’Artagnan ducked or rather let gravity bring his body down where it wanted to go, and Athos fired. Marie de Medici to stunned at her prays sudden decent, didn't think to miss the bullet hurtling towards her chest. She sunk to the ground in a similar fashion to her prey, but she wasn't incapacitated yet. Athos walked up to her and stood over her body. He could see the way her flesh pulled at the hole he had made, she snarled at him. 

Before she could attack Athos emptied his clip into her head. The pistol shots echoed through the marble hallway. He rushed to d’Artagnan’s side finding the lads eye had already closed. Without thinking Athos put presser on the wound of this neck, using his other hand to gently slap the younger man.

“ Come on d’Art. Open your eyes, come on.” Athos demand. Distantly he registered the sound of sirens and prayed that his brothers were with them.

-

The room blurred and swirled. d’Artagnan wasn't even sure if he was looking at the floor or the ceiling. He vaguely registered a pain in his neck as if he had slept wrong. A light shone too bright, it hurt his eyes and felt them more than consciously thought, they close. His world a peaceful black once more.

A tingling sensation when through his cheek, gone as quick as it came. Then again, harder this time. It was beginning to get a little annoying. The next time it wasn't a tingle, it was harder and stung. Athos’s blurry face came into his vision. He didn't even register opening his eyes, but now that they were his senses tingled. Athos’s face came into focus than out again, still, d’Artagnan had managed to get a look at his features. Athos was scared and openly showing it. This was a terrifying realisation, if Athos was showing him this, things must be very very bad.

d’Artagnan tried to sit up to find out what was wrong. Gravity was being mean, he couldn't move his, body to heavy for his muscles, or his muscles too weak for his body. Athos’s lips were moving, but no sound seemed to travel the short space between them to his ears.

Next thing d’Artagnan knew, Aramis had replaced his mentor. The sniper dark brown hair cascaded down and swirled. d’Artagnan considered for a moment f he was high. Aramis mouth was moving but just like Athos no noise reach his ears, it was like they were clogged up with cotton-wool. He felt a pressure on his wrist and sluggishly looked down at two fingers on his wrist. He followed it up back to Aramis’s concerned face. The world sort of went all wiggly and he realised he was moving. The sudden movement was too much for is riddled mind. he closed his eyes again. The darkness was comforting in a way he didn't understand and before he knew it he was unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know about any mistakes.
> 
> Thank you, to everyone who has commented and kudosed


	5. With spilt blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to be longer, but I felt the next chapter needed to be on its own.

Chapter 5

Athos was lost in thought, lost in the wonder of love that he had felt so long ago and he hated that he still loved her. The smell of forget-me-nots still hung around him, it was in his clothes and in his hair. He had to restrain himself from ripping the clothes of his back and burning them, then running to a bathroom to scrub his skin raw. 

But he sat frozen in place, condemning himself with the knowledge that a little brother once again was hurt because of him. He should have seen the flowers, he knew that scent anywhere, and got the boy out and as far away as possible. But the scent hadn't registered till d’Artagnan was in the ambulance and despite his persistence, was sent down to the basement to look for the tourists. 

Aramis had gone with d’Art in the van, headed to the hospital. Athos trusted Aramis, he wouldn't lose the pup. Aramis was like that, he would do anything to protect them all. 

All Athos wanted now was a drink, to drown himself in liquor. But the pup was still unconscious, he would wait.

 

-

 

Porthos hated hospitals. The smell, the whiteness, the chaotic order things happened in, all of it, he hated. Porthos had no good memories of the hospital. A few bad one for Aramis, a few bad ones for Athos and a few of himself waking up in the whiteness, but no good ones and that was just another thing to add to the why he hated hospitals list. But as much as he hated this place, right now he hated Marie de Medici more and he hated that she was locked up in a Garrison cell rather than turned to dust like she deserved. 

The image of d’Artagnan laying on the floor, half his blood covering himself and Athos leaning over him trying to get his attention kept replaying over and over in his head. That look the kid gave them when he finally opened his eyes was full of confusion and a hint of fear, Aramis shouting for the paramedics and Athos seemed to have lost his calculated persona. The kids plus was weak and from the way, Aramis was speaking all medic-like told Porthos that it was too weak.

And now Porthos sat alone by d’Artagnan’s bed, keeping a protective watch over their youngest member. He had come out of surgery hours ago. The surgery itself wasn't very long but that didn't keep the three men any less anxious as they waited with trepidation in the waiting room for news. The doctors had told the three it had been close.

But now they were waiting just the same, but the initial fear had settled and their anxieties quelled to a more normal degree. And now with all of those raging emotions gone by one doctor's words that he was going to be alright, the world seemed to deflate around them. Now plagued with exhaustion and relief, they waited for their little brother to wake.

The other two members of the Inseparables weren’t far away, but far enough to be noticeable. Athos sat in a plastic chair at the back corner of the white room, deliberately looking out of the window where they could see the first few orange leaves of Autumn falling, rather than at their injured charge, where he lay pale and listless in the white hospital bed. The way Athos sat, slumped and distant, gave away the man's feelings. It was just like Athos to feel guilty over something that was an accident, and yes if things were done differently this could have been avoided, but it had happened and it was and accident.

And that was why their last member of their team stood, with his arms crossed, head bowed and silent after muttering reassurance that he had given up a few hours ago, next to their leader. Porthos had been slightly shocked by Aramis taking his post by Athos rather than the pup. Knowing Aramis’s protective nature, Porthos had expected the Spaniard to be sitting right beside him pointlessly watching the lad sleep. But then again Aramis hadn't taken his eyes off of the youth for the first two hours and only now tired and trusting Porthos did he release his gaze. He stood next to Athos leaning casually against the wall, for silent support, surrendering his words of comfort and reassurance after they became obviously useless. But maybe Athos needed their cheerful friend more right now, after all, what could Aramis do for an unconscious pup that he couldn't do for their moping leader. 

The heart monitor that had been comforting in the first few hours, that had slowly grown annoying, fluttered slightly, then sped up. Not alarmingly, but enough to tell the occupants of the room, that their charge was transitioning from unconsciousness to awareness.

Porthos felt rather than saw the shift of focus in the room turn to the bed and its occupants. Aramis bounced off of the wall and came to stand at Porthos’s side, placing one hand on Porthos’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze and his other hand came to rest on d’Artagnan’s arm. Athos looked over, his eyes wide with relief, but he didn't stand and come over. He silently observed from his chair in the corner, as far away as possible.

Porthos turned his attention back on the pup before him. d’Artagnan’s eyes fluttered weakly before some gentle probing from the big man gave way to unfocused light brown eyes. Finally, after 6 long hours, the pup was awake.

-

d’Artagnan didn't really know what was going on. He remembered the house and Marie de Medici and the overwhelming urge to sleep and just daydream for a minute and then the searing pain in his neck. The attack came crashed into his memory like a bulldozer. The memory was blurred and cut up but still there. The fear and Athos was there swell, with his gun pointed at him. No, not at him at Marie just behind him, with her fangs embedded into his neck. It made his skin flush cold and crawl at the thought of those teeth, needle-like as they were, making sizeable holes in his vulnerable skin. 

d’Artagnan panicked and quickly opened his eyes, expecting to see Marie leaning over him, her mouth filled with his blood, dripping down her chin. But when he did final manage to tear his resistant eyes open, he was overwhelmed with relief to see Porthos and Aramis looked down at him rather than a bloodthirsty monster. 

The world had become a mess that didn't make sense. His mind still foggy distantly registered that there should be a third man next to the other two, but his head hurt and he put it aside to think about later. He closed his eyes again, searching for the peacefulness that sleep offered. 

The tourists.  
With all of the commotion and blood loss, he had forgotten about the tourists. d’Artagnan reopened his eyes with determination and tried to push himself up. He was shocked to find that his hands wouldn't work properly. They were clumsy and uncoordinated, he fumbled them in the sheets, trying desperately to untangle them. A warm dark hand came to rest on top of his own, it stilled his actions. He followed it upto Porthos’s concerned gaze. His eyes moved to Porthos’s mouth, which was moving. d’Artagnan realises then that Porthos had been talking and he hadn't been listening. Now with a goal, d’Artagnan focused all his attention on getting one word out and listening to Porthos.

“ Wha…” He breathed out.

Porthos gave d’Artagnan a small smile and started to repeat himself. “ everything fine, the tourist were found in the basement. You've just got to focus on getting better, okay?” He gave the pups hand a squeeze. 

D’artagnan frowned as he tried to decipher the word Porthos spoke. “ O.Okay”. 

Porthos could tell that the kid was exhausted. With the news that everything would be okay, d’Artagnan took Porthos up on his advice and began to close his eyes. Relief was such a pleasure to finally feel. Both Aramis and Porthos sighed in unison and gave each other a reassuring smile. He was okay. Everything would be okay.

A scraping noise echoed in the silence of the room, startling both Porthos and Aramis and waking d’Artagnan. All three men looked over to where Athos now stood, and at the chair that had slid back with the force their leader had used to stand. Jaw tight, fists clenched and head down, Athos march out of the hospital room. The darkness in his eye spoke of the way Athos dealt with tension; self-destruction. All three men watched him go, both able men torn between protecting their youngest from nightmarish monsters in the world or protecting their eldest from the monsters inside his own head. Porthos could tell that Athos’s inner demons wanted to come out and play, they were rattling their cage that Aramis and himself had built, and this guilt might just fit the lock holding them in.

Porthos sighed and looked back at the pup. d’Artagnan looked confused and hurt by the obvious abandonment. Porthos sighed again and covered his eyes with his hand that wasn't holding d’Artagnan’s. Damn the kid didn't need this right now, he thought, then sent a pleading look to his standing friend. 

Aramis nodded, understanding the silent plea. Aramis wasn't smiling, he looked deadly serious in a way that made Porthos worry more for their estranged leader then their pale pup in the hospital bed. Aramis’s grip tightened on Porthos shoulder before Aramis had his way to the door to follow Athos. He gave one last look at the man it the bed before silently closing the door behind him.

Porthos patted d’Artagnan’s hand “ It's alright mate, you just gave him a bit of a scare, that's all.” The pup still looked confused but in his weakened state all d’Artagnan could do was close his eyes and succumb to his exhaustion. 

 

-

 

Aramis knew where Athos would be. He would go to his luxurious apartment and empty his liquor cabinet. But as Aramis made his way out of Paris General Hospital and into the midmorning light, he didn't head in the direction of Athos’ apartment. He turned right towards the Garrison. The walk wasn't long and Aramis was thankful that the building the Garrison was home to was part of the same district as the hospital. Both buildings have historic value, had been restored and protected. It made this district seem like travelling back in time, apart from the oil lamps being replaced with luminescent street lights and the groaning of horse drawn carts replaced with obnoxious V8’s. But still, it held a sort of welcoming nostalgia to Aramis, even if the Paris it had come from was well after his time. It held a distant semblance of home that Aramis missed. Even if he was happier now, with the inseparables, he missed the simplicity but had hated the inequality. Still home was home, and his home was far older than the historic buildings that surrounded him. But there was nothing left of that place, nothing that was a physical object at least.

The past that he had tried to forget when he had re-forged his life, came back to him with remorse at the sheer number of lives lost in his name. The memory of friends fallen and lovers gone by, assaulted his mind. But he did not regret any of the people he had lived for, or the people that had lived for him and as he walked with renewed determination in each step, the ghosts of his past guided him towards the Garrison and down to the basement levels, to stand in front of the vampire-proof cells with his mindset to do what needs to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments are very much appreciated and I do like knowing your opinion on what's going on. Any mistakes please let me know.


	6. Dead Men Tell No Tales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot longer, because...... well it just is.  
> I don't really know if I'm meant to put trigger warnings, sooo be warned this chapter is a littler darker, but only just.

Aramis had been disgustingly surprised by the smell of forget-me-nots when he ran through Marie de Medici mansion of a house. It wasn't meant to be here, not near him or his brothers. The smell only brought death and destruction. He hated the significance of that smell and those blue flowers, and that was why he was here now, standing in front of Marie de Medici herself with a rather gruesome agenda.

Marie de Medici was being held in one of the vampire proof cells in the basement of the Garrison. The cold room was built with spelled chunks of dark grey concrete, to hold any vampire strength at bay. The room had no window and thankfully no other vampire in the adjoining cells.

Marie de Medici hadn't been shocked by his visit, but he doubted that she could be shocked by much, after all, she has lived far too long for anything to be a surprise to her. She smiled knowingly and caressed the bars that held her.

“ Are you here to let me out?” He eyes, slits like reptiles ran over his body. A rear spike of vulnerability ran up his spine, he ignored it.

Aramis shook his head.

She pouted, “ Louis will be here soon, he wouldn't like seeing his dearest sire to be locked in this rather small cell. He will be angry.” She hissed the last part as she danced from bar to bar.

“ Yes, Louis is a powerful vampire, but..” Aramis began.

“ Head of Paris’s coven.” She interrupted and smiled with pride.

“ Yes, but he’s not going to be able to help you this time Marie.” Aramis wouldn't let her ‘son’ help her. They both knew that Louis would not punish her like he was meant to, he would send her away, banish her and that wasn't enough.

She had hurt d’Artagnan, had almost killed him and the forget-me-not smell that only one woman left in her wake was connected to her. Aramis couldn't let her out.

“I'm here to talk about something else.”

“ Oh I know,” Her smile grow, “ I knew what you were when you came down those steps.”

A pause. He stepped closer, only a few centimetres, and iron bars between them. Aramis would not show fear or weakness to this woman, he had come here with a purpose, and that end result made his emotions calm in a way he wished they didn't.

“ I know who you belong to.” She whispered, her face between two cold bars, watching, waiting for his reaction. Of course, she knew, it was branded on his soul or what was left of it, anything powerful enough would be able to see it, and Marie de Medici was a very old vampire.  
“Your not whole are you, you're missing a rather large chunk that goes right there,” She twisted her long red painted nail into his chest, over his heart. She smirked, tormenting him. It didn't hurt, he had numbed himself for the task ahead.

“ How does that feel to be owned. You’re just a thing. A thing dreaming of being a man.”   
she leaned closer, on her tip toes so her lips brushed against his ear. “ You have to wake up sooner or later.” She whispered. When she drew back, her smile was cruel and knowing. 

It took such concentration to school his features, but he must of let something slip. She laughed and stuck a hand through the bars to touch his cheek. He let her. Her fingers were cold and soft. It didn't matter anymore, her words had made the decision for him. She was connected to her, he couldn't let Marie be free to the world and let the vampire tell her where he was. He would loose it all. Loose his family. 

The best solution would be for him to leave, to disappear one autumn night and never be seen again. But he couldn't leave them, not his brothers, not the apartment that he shared with Porthos, or the office, not his life. He needed them too much, needed their comfort, needed their touch, and he hated his own weakness of being ridiculously tactile. Staying, he would put them all in danger, but if he stayed he could pretend he truly belonged for just a little longer. Pretend that was his life now, with his brothers. But he knew deep down he was a thing, a thing dreaming of being a man.

“ She’s looking for you, you know. Her pet.” She spat the last word with venom, and then flung her head back and laughed, it was an annoyingly beautiful laugh. One filled with malignity.

God, he wanted to strangle her. But her torments only spoke truths that he already knew, but he could pretend and prance around his ignorance for a little longer, couldn't he? Pretend that he didn't know the world's cruellest pits, coldest nights and most malevolent of monsters. Couldn’t he keep the peace and sense of home just a little longer? Didn't he deserve that? But if the past was anything to learn from, probably not. But he would try, he would try to keep the peace and hold on to his facade of benightedness, he would hold onto his superficial display that he had perfected and consumed for all to see. He couldn't let his brothers find out the truth, they would leave him and he knew his own selfish nature wouldn't let him leave them. They didn't need to know, as long as no one knew he didn't have to leave his brothers. Marie de Medici wouldn't be telling anyone.

He cursed the world for gracing him with such loving friends, no not friends, family. For if they weren't so brilliant in their own way and so set in his heart, he wouldn't love them too much to need them. He just wanted them safe and he just wanted his home to stay where it was, frozen in time. So no one could hurt them or tear down what they had built together. It wasn't perfect, the inseparables lives, but it was theirs and he loved it too much to leave. He wanted to scream the unfairness of his life from the rooftops, but what would that gain him? So he locked it up, in a wooden box laced with intricate silver designs, and left it in the corner of his head, where no one would touch it. 

But Marie seemed to have a key, he wouldn't let her unlock that box and bring out all of those things he didn't want his family to know.

He fished out the wooden tipped bullet from his pocket and slipped it into his pistol. His hands were steady. He didn't make a big show of the action, but Marie had stopped her laughing, she had gone blissfully quite. Taking a step back, he raised the weapon to head height. The bullets history wasn't long. He had made it years ago and it had sat next to other specialist and mostly illegal weapons in a locked safe under his bed. But it had a purpose now. 

She deserved this, he told himself. She had hurt d’Artagnan and she would again if she let loose the knowledge she had so loved to share.

Aramis smiled grimly at the fear that flashed into her eyes. She gulped.

“ Listen, I won't tell her.” Her voice went small and she spoke quietly, Such a difference to her earlier sense of being superior. “ Please.” She whispered as if she dared not raise her voice any higher. Her knowledge she had flaunted around to torment him, would be her downfall.

He shook his head again. His usual ability for word wasn't needed here, he didn't need to charm his way out of this, he wanted to end her and he would. He didn't need words when there would be no one left to repeat them anyway.   
“Please”, He hated himself for the slither of enjoyment that he felt at her pleas. She wanted life, but he wouldn't let her have it if it meant destroying his and his brothers.

The crack of the bullet hitting her skull echoed in the darkness of the cells long after she was dust. Her body turned to ash before it even touched the ground. A pile of insignificant dust, that would so early blow away in the wind.

Aramis felt no remorse as he swept her remains into the dustpan and brush he had brought with him. He had other things on his mind. Thinking about the action he had just committed would secure the evil presence he knew played deep in his chest. It had been placed there by a witch, a necromancer.

He made his way out of the Garrison surprised at the amount of time that had passed. The sky lit up in reds and oranges, framed by the apartment buildings around him. The sun set and darkness that seemed so fitting for the action that had been committed that day consumed the sky. Night fell and an overwhelming exhaustion adsorbed Aramis. But he couldn't rest now, he had a brother to help and a family to fix.

 

-

 

The guilt hit him as he reached for the brass door handle. Aramis cursed the timing, but he couldn't help see it fitting.He had to keep a pin on his emotions, he lived with a man that could see auras and was visiting a man that could read emotions and when he wanted to could read memories. 

Athos was upstairs drowning in his own sorrows, using the only form of escape he knew to get the throughs out of his head. But from experience, Aramis knew that the alcohol did anything but. It only made their leader express his emotions to the point they seemed to run off him like water. Athos would forget the details by morning, but the venting and damage control the night before always helped. Aramis also knew from experience that this part was necessary, as damaging to his liver as it was, it was necessary. Otherwise Athos would just bottle the self-hate up to the point that Aramis and Porthos both feared for their leader's sanity and possibly his life. 

Aramis knew they were all broken in their own way. But they were like an old bar stool, the wood chipped, nails rusted, the cover stained beyond repair and been put back to gather again more times then the owner would have liked. But still standing and able to take the weight of the world as long as all of the legs took some of the weight off for each other. It felt so true that when one leg brakes the whole stool will come tumbling down. Aramis mused his metaphor and added the pup to the equation, he wondered if they would be able to stand if one of them left now that they had the kid around.

Aramis made his way up two flights of stairs till he reached the door he was looking for. Athos apartment door had been painted electric blue, as a prank quite a few years ago and Athos refusing to accept defeat had repainted it every year to keep its vitality. The landlord had been angry, but then Athos paid him a fare sum to keep the door as it was. Athos also took a small chunk of his and Porthos’s pay to eventually pay himself back with. Aramis didn't really know if Athos was allowed to do that, but he did question it in fear to wake up one day with a lumens pink door of his own. Aramis paused at the door, listening to see if it was safe to enter the dragons den. 

He heard nothing. 

This was as comforting as it was disconcerting. No tables or glass was being thrown around, but Athos could also be passed out on the floor. Aramis fished out his set of keys and entered the flat. 

The apartment was dark and eerily silent. He noted the lack of usual destruction from the rectangle of light that shone from the open door.

“Athos?” 

No answer.

Aramis closed the door behind him, sealing the apartment back into its darkness. His eyes caught a small movement from the corner of the living room. Aramis made his way over to the figure, as it lifted a silhouette of a bottle to its lips once more. He dodged furniture as he navigated the apartment he had practically lived in for a week. Aramis knelt in front of his drunk leader. The only light seeped through the blinds was an ugly artificial light from a street lamp. It made the shadows under Athos’s eyes and lines seemed sharper and more ghostlike than normal. Aramis for pure comfort reasons placed two fingers on the side of Athos neck and watched the man blink as he felt the comfort of his steady heartbeat. Aramis noted the coldness of Athos skin, and slowly as not to frighten the broken man before him, took off his jacket and placed it around his shoulders. Athos only blinked at him. Athos wasn't one for words but his eye told Aramis all his words didn't. The warmth didn't matter to Athos, but the gesture was almost too much. Aramis watched that older man's eyes start to fill and for a weird sense of privacy, Aramis turned away to the fireplace opposite them. 

He shuffled the few meters over to it, and after a few minutes the fire was ablaze and casting a much kinder light across the room. With the banishment of the cold street light came the time to start fixing the problem rather than wallow in it. On Aramis’s way back to Athos’s side, he grabbed a glass that had been left out. Once settled next to his brother, he wordlessly held up his glass and with slightly shaking hands Athos filled it for him. 

They sat like that, silently drinking, both absorbed but their own feelings, disgraced by the shifting shapes of the flames. But Aramis waited for Athos to ask what the other man was dying to ask. And after hours of sitting and drinking - Athos drinking a lot slower now that there was someone there to judge he for it. - Athos asked what he desperately needed to know.

“How is he?” Athos voice cracked from disuse. Athos knew that blood loss was series but blessedly simple, still, something could have happened while he had been here with his drink.

“Upset” Aramis knew he had answered the wrong question, but this was the part that was the problem.

“I'm not angry at him.” Another drink.

“But that's not what he thinks.” Aramis leans over Athos’s lap and takes the bottle out of his clumsy fingers. “ I think you've had enough.” 

Athos didn't fight it, too drunk to really try. He let the bottle slip between his fingers into Aramis’s. Aramis didn't tell him that it wasn't his fault and he was grateful for it. He had heard it enough yesterday and last night. It felt cheap now, the words didn't comfort him and they felt like the easy way out. 

“ It doesn't matter, you know,” Aramis said, not looking at him.

Athos waited for him to elaborate, it seemed Aramis didn't want to. So he asked, “ what doesn't matter?”

A pause.

“ If it was your fault or not. It doesn't matter because its done now and all we can do is pick up the pieces.” Aramis spoke quietly. staring transfixed on the blaze.

But Aramis didn't know of his ex-wife, he didn't know of her malice and the way vengeance consumed the woman he loved. The forget-me-nots had followed him across France, and now they were here in Paris, too close to his brothers. She had been tormenting him with the flowers for weeks and he couldn't help seeing Marie de Medici attack part of her plan, the abduction of the tourists to lure them in. Milady was coming for him, she wasn't his Anne anymore.

“Come On,” Aramis spoke after a very strained silence. He stood, placing his glass on the table only a few feet away, and heaved Athos up to his feet. Athos swayed dangerously, but Aramis was there to steady him, he was always there to make sure he didn't fall down. Athos had never thanked him for it, but he felt that Aramis knew all the same, how much he need him and Porthos. They all needed each other. 

Aramis guided him to his bed, pulled back to covers and laid him down more gently than he deserved. Athos felt his mind drifting towards sleep as Aramis went about pulling his shoes off and getting him a glass of water. Aramis came to sit down on the edge of the bed, ready to wait all night if he had to, till the older man fell asleep. Athos looked into Aramis’s eyes and sore trouble shifting there and with confused realisation, Athos realised he was not only feeling his own guilt and worry but Aramis’s as well. 

Due to Aramis slowing his pace of drinking, Athos was aware enough to realise that his empath ability had slipped loose, but not sober enough to tell when it had stated. It had spread out across the space it was given and had latched on to Aramis’s emotions. And Aramis was worried and a bit scared, it was for him, yes, but also for something bigger and it terrified the man that was now comforting him. A desperate fear of something getting out, something he didn't want anyone to know about. Questions riddled his brain, too drunk to think in corporal sentences. What is he hiding?, Why is he so scared? Athos slipped off to sleep before he could intrude of Aramis’s thoughts anymore. 

 

-

 

The morning was cold, the first proper cold morning since Autumn stated. Athos woke to people talking outside his room. His head played heavily on the pillow, to heavy to lift, too heavy to move. The Muffled voice seemed to echo inside his head and made the dull pain, spike. despite his internal pleas, the voices continued, then the sound of something heavy shifting. 

Maybe he was being robbed. He went to get up, then realised he really didn't care as long as they didn't come in here, they can take what they want. Athos closed his eyes again and let the pillow consume his head, taking away the feeling of too much gravity pushing onto his body. 

A vague memory of the night before slipped into his half-asleep brain. Aramis tucking him into bed like a child, talking but not really saying anything while he had milled around his bed, getting everything in order. Then he sat and waited for him to drift off to sleep, a distant sense of desperation and fear lingered but Athos gave it little thought. It wasn't his business, but if it got out of hand he would have to intervene like he always had to do. The curse of being an older brother. Though he could hardly say he begrudged it that much. More like a responsibility, he would rather not do it, but his worry wouldn't let him just look the other way. 

The smell of pancakes waffled through the gap under the door, but more importantly, they were no mistaking Porthos pancakes were being masterfully created behind that door. It gave him enough incentive to pull back the pile of blankets an overbearing Spaniard had dumped on top of him and lift his hungover body and drag himself into the shower.

The water rained down on him. Strikingly cold, cold enough to cut through his fogged head. Maybe the flowers had been a coincidence and not some elaborate plan to take revenge against him. Under the reality of the cold water, the whole through made him sound paranoid, thou that paranoia might just save his little brother's life next time. Still, d’Artagnan had gotten hurt because he hadn't look at all the variables, he hadn't looked out for his team. Athos had left him alone to fend off a vampire and he had gotten hurt, dangerously hurt. d’Artagnan had almost died, and now he was in hospital worried about you, while he should be resting. Athos sighed a banged his head on the shower wall. Then turned his frozen water off. 

It's done now and all we can do is pick up the pieces. Aramis’s voice echoed through the bathroom. Athos sighed again and left the bathroom to confront his two best friends. 

The scene before him wasn't particularly confronting. Both men froze when he opened his door, fully dressed and ready to face the world. Porthos was by the kitchen cooking like expected, but Aramis seemed to have stayed over, on the couch and had obviously gotten cold. The couch was a mess of blankets and pillows, a den of comfort and warmth. The couch underneath was almost completely consumed by the army of colourful blankets, only a slither of the grey-beige of the armrest could be seen. Athos turned to his linen cupboard to his left, it was empty. 

Athos gave Porthos a look, he just smiled and contended his cooking. Athos walked over to where his couch was meant to be. The walk despite its very short length, made him want to sit down before his head brought him down. Athos nudged the pile. It moved slightly. A mop of dark, wavy hair protruded from the pile, dark sleepy eyes glanced at him before it slipped back underneath the mountain of covers, lost in the sea of blankets. 

He nudged it again, the mountain shifted and moaned in displeasure. A whimper sounded from the bundle and Aramis poked his head out again. He looked childish with his sleep mused eyes and red cheeks. 

“ Pancakes,” Athos said to his dazed friend.

Aramis looked at him blankly for a moment the mumbled, “Pancakes?”   
Athos gave him a rare smile and nodded. Aramis untangled himself from his den of comfort, but his foot stayed caught as he tried to stand. Athos caught his before he could face plant and helped him find his footing, they both looked up at Porthos as the big man began laughing. 

Once settled at his countertop with Aramis perched cross-legged onto of the cream marble, Athos asked,“ If you were cold, why didn't you just turn the heating on?”

Aramis had stayed at Athos’s apartment after the Rochefort incident, because his and Porthos apartment had 4 flights of stairs and no lift, and Porthos had complained enough about having to carry the younger man whenever he decided to faint on them half way up.Aramis had loved to have the heat on, the man seemed to have an aversion to anything under 26 degrees. So Athos had taught him how to use the heater so only the living room and not the whole house turned into a sauna. 

“ I couldn't figure it out.” Aramis mumbled through his full mouth, he swallowed, “ It’s a ridiculously difficult system.”

“ Again Aramis. I taught you how to use it when you were staying here.” Athos gave him a disappointed mixed with anger look.

“ Don’t look at me like that, Porthos couldn't figure it out either” Aramis diverted the attention to Porthos.

“Don’t drag me into this.”

“ Well it's true, you couldn’t.” 

The two bantered like yesterday hadn't been one of the most stressful 24 hours of their lives. The morning was oddly normal after that. They talked briefly about the case and apart from Porthos demand of him to go to the hospital after they had finished breakfast, the morning was calm, a complete opposite to last night. The night before was a mix of drunk-edited memories. Anxiety, fear and a fare about of stress had left them all exhausted. No one spoke of the empty whisky bottle by the fireplace or the wine that stained the far wall and the glass the lay below it. It looked like someone had tried to scrub it off, but the wine had stained the wall and it wasn't coming off. He would have to repaint it. Paint over the proof of his shame and guilt. Aramis and Porthos would help if he asked, maybe even d’Artagnan, when he was feeling better.

Once belly where full and coffee addictions subdued, they headed to the Paris General Hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> And errors let me know.  
> I hope Aramis didn't come across evil or a psychopath.
> 
> :D


	7. Chaos in the Office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters a bit of fun (ish), after the seriousness of the last chapter.  
> Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> and yes, I copyed Boursouflet from Harry Potter.

d’Artagnan had spent the last two week being pampered by Constance, which he would never complain about but he was quite thrilled about going back to work. He knew the other three were very busy with Marie de Medici escape and he was eager to help with whatever needed to be done. d’Artagnan had been lucky to have been put on leave for two weeks, he just hoped Treville’s anger had subsided. He had been practically murderous according to Aramis, about the vampires escape and them having zero leads. To say the least, d’Artagnan had been preparing for Marie to break into Constance’s house and murder him in his sleep, but Athos had assured him that the vampire would have left the country as soon as possible, to escape the covens that would be after her now.

Apparently, vampire law was strict and not really legal, but no one could really prove that the covens were committing the acts because of how close-knit they all were. So Marie de Medici had run off scared. Aramis seemed to feel bad about the whole thing, maybe he could relate. And for d’Artagnan’s peace of mind had installed a supernatural alarm system on his day off.

His arms still left too weak, and the muscles on his shoulders were still sore, but all that remained of the attack or incident which was what everyone was calling it, was the two white scars on his neck and a few restless nights sleep. 

d’Artagnan walked up the steps of the SIU, also known as the Garrison, with four coffees in a tray. There was a history lesson that Athos had tried to teach him there somewhere. The Garrison was huge and labyrinth-like on the inside. The outside was red brick blocked with white pillars to add a bit of colour. d’Artagnan was pretty sure he had built something very similar out of Legos when he was a child. 

He climbed the stone steps up to the front doors and scanned the windows on the west side. He shivered when a gust of wind found his vulnerable skin under his coat, Autumn was slowly turning to winter.

He tugged the scarf around his neck a little tighter. To be honest he felt a bit self-conscious about the marks on his neck and was very grateful for the cold weather giving him an excuse to cover up. He knew the marks would fade, and the nightmare would slowly dissipate, but he wished they'd hurry up and just go.

He could see an officer having a very angry conversation on the phone - but it was muted from d’Artagnan’s position outside. The next room held the kitchen, which accompanied three officers and a lab assistant drinking coffee. The last window without its blinds closed was on the top far west side. The window curved around the side of the building. d’Artagnan was sure that the original building didn't have that window, and often wondered how they could have possibly been allowed to knock part of the wall out. This window was framed by patch-work, home-made curtains belonged to the Inseparables office, that was rather horrible if you asked d’Artagnan.

As d’Artagnan struggled with the door - then made he was inside - he realised how quiet and peaceful the autumn air had been, the SIU was a complete contradiction to the peace outside. The bullpen, which was just in front of the front double doors was a mess of desks, people, paper and noise. Whatever the inseparables had done to get a privet office, he did not know, but God he was glad he didn't have to work in this chaos.

He turned left to the staircase and began to climb. The lift was broken, d’Artagnan had heard it was Porthos’s fault and that it had something to do with rabbits. d’Artagnan didn't ask anymore, the answers just led to more questions and these sort of things - d’Artagnan had come to learn - happened rather regularly.

He could hear the yelling and a rather girly scream from the double oak doors that lead to their office. His hand hovered over the brass door handle. The last time he had been in this situation, he opened the door to Aramis and Porthos fighting, and not it the hand to hand combat practice that they both enjoyed it a little bit too much. It was violent and bloody. Porthos had a bloody and broken nose and Aramis two very swollen fingers and a dislocated thumb. d’Artagnan had theorised that Aramis’s injury had come from actually punching Porthos in the face. karma. They had been on opposite sides of the room when d’Artagnan had entered, throwing lamps, files, mugs and anything else they could find at each other. Athos had sat on the windowsill sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. d’Artagnan had never found out what the argument was about. Treville had almost murdered them because of the amount of SIU property damage they had generated.

But those two seemed to patch things up between them faster then they could fall out, which d’Artagnan had thought impossible.

D’Artagnan gingerly opened the door. The usually neat office was in disarray. Aramis stood on top of his desk to the left of the doors, hopping from one foot to the other. He didn't look up as d’Artagnan entered, his eyes stayed scanning the rugs - that overlapped in no colour order at all- on the floor. He held two daggers, one in each hand, their pointed tips - that d’Artagnan knew where sharpened more vigorously and frequently than really necessary- were aimed at the floor.

Porthos was squatting on the floor in the far right corner, eyes on the floors as well. He held an umbrella in both hands, branding it like a sword. His squat more like a lion ready to pounce. Even from his position on the other side of the badly decorated room, d’Artagnan could see blood and what looked like a bite mark on his left arm. His face one of determination.

Even Athos was not acting like his usual grumpy indifferent self. The usually stoic man was on his hands and knees, looking underneath d’Artagnan’s desk. d’Artagnan’s desk’s top connected with Aramis’s desk’s top. It was a mirror image to Athos and Porthos’s desks on the right side of the room. 

“God damn it Aramis, why did you bring the damn thing in here.” D’Artagnan heard from under his desk. The youngest just stood to dumbstruck to really do anything. He had no idea what was going on.

“ I didn't just bring it in Athos. I didn't know it was in my bag!” Aramis yelled back in self-defence. 

“ I don't believe you” Athos yelled. Aramis face shifted to one of anger mixed with guilt, he stomped his foot in frustration. Aramis often acted more petulant than he should, he had a child’s temper and moods that could shift from joy to anger in seconds. 

“Stop fighting you to. Now, where did the fucker go?” Porthos shouted from across the room.

Suddenly a bright pink ball of fluff darted out from underneath Aramis’s desk. The thing darted underneath Athos’s desk. Aramis screeched and his hopping increased, now it looked like he was running on the spot. Athos darted back, to get away from the thing and landing on his behind. Porthos despite being the furthest away from the pink fluffy demon, swing his improvised sword back and forth.

“ Where did it go?” Aramis questioned in a high pitched voice. He sounded close to tears from frustration. 

D’Artagnan could see the thing from his angle. It was quite cute. Its small paws screeched its nose. Before it could run of creating more terror, d’Artagnan lunged forward. Grabbing a box of files on his way and in one swift movement, tipped the contents on the floor and then putting the box over the pink thing, trapping it.

All three of the other men stared and didn't say anything. The upturned box shifted to one side and before the thing could escape d’Artagnan sat on the box. This seemed to break the daze everyone was it.

Aramis cheered and jumped off of his desk, landing neatly like always, the man possessed too much grace for one person. Porthos stood and inspected his injured arm. Athos went over to d’Artagnan.  
“Good job, d’Artagnan” Athos’s voice was one of relief and any normal person would have delivered it with a smile, Athos did not supply one. His mouth a thin line.

“What the hell is this thing?” d’Artagnan motioned to the box underneath him.

“It's a Boursouflet, his name’s Henry.” Aramis supplied. d’Artagnan watched Athos’s face shift to one of anger. At the same time as Aramis realised his mistake.

“ You DID bring it in here!” Athos yelled. 

“ I'm sorry.” His voice small, pleading. Aramis shrank back, his shoulders stiffening. He couldn't look Athos in the eye. “ I didn't know Athos, he must have jumped in my bag when I was leaving Juliet’s house this morning. She’s probably worried sick about him.” Aramis mumbled the last part.

“ I don't care about how Juliet feels right now. Your newest lay’s pet just bit Porthos, Aramis. He might need to get jabs or something! and just look at the mess around here, Treville is already pissed at us.” Athos’s anger seemed to continued to grow with ever word.

d’Artagnan felt like he probably shouldn't be here, but he couldn't more or else the thing - Henry - world get out again. Athos’s slight at Aramis’s frequently changing partners was probably a step too far. Athos was defiantly overreacting, but now that he was riled up, he couldn't seem to calm down.

D’Artagnan was surprised that Porthos hadn't come to the poor Spaniards rescue yet, till he looked at the big man. Porthos face had gone pale at the mention of jabs. His hand clenched his arm probably a little too tightly with fear.

“He won't need jabs, Boursouflets aren’t poisons or anything, and they don't carry any human contactable diseases,” Aramis mumbled still not making eye contact. He features full of guilt. 

The poor man looked close to tears, Athos seemed to have this ability to bring anyone to tears. And everyone was already feeling the pressure from Treville and the international police, because of the tourist, maybe they all needed a bit of a break. He moved past Athos to inspect Porthos’s arm. Athos sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to control his anger.

“Patch him up would you. I'm going to go find a cage.” Athos stormed off. Aramis just nodded in acceptance.

Aramis guided Porthos to the windowsill seat that matched the patchwork curtains. Aramis silently cleaned and covered Porthos’s bit mark. D’Artagnan made himself busy by cleaning up the things he could reach, from he position. 

Porthos was speaking quietly to Aramis. d’Artagnan was too far away to hear, but he had witnessed their relationship for last few mouths, and there was no doubt in d’Artagnan’s mind that Porthos words were comforting.

d’Artagnan sighed, just a typical Monday morning at the SIU with the inseparables. 

 

-

 

The rest of the day was uneventful. Aramis’s lively nature came back slowly but surely, with Porthos’s inability to stop banter from flowing out of his mouth. Athos’s anger slowly calmed but the silence between him and Aramis stayed. 

Porthos knew that Athos’s silence was due to his inability to admit he was wrong, as well as confronting personal issues with words was not his forte. His usual formal speech fails him in this area.

So Porthos purposely left them alone together to sort it out, when he and d’Artagnan went to get lunch. When they returned from the burger joint two blocks away, with way too much food for four people. The issue seemed to have been resolved, as Aramis was sitting on the corner of Athos’s desk. Athos had his head on the desk and repeatedly hit it in some form of misguided frustration. 

“ ….And that's how I got caught on top of the college building. I had to explain my actions to the dean while only wearing a towel and the Indian headdress.” They walked into Aramis telling one of his most popular stories. That even though Athos had probably heard it before, he still found it necessary to hit his head against the desk in frustration at Aramis’s stupidity.

Porthos kneeled in front of Henry's cage in the corner, Henry gnawed at the bars. He made a growling sound every so often. But his fluffy cuteness sort of ruined the intended threat. Aramis came over and kneeled aside him. 

Aramis poked his finger through the gap in the bars and wiggled it. “Don't aggravate it!” Porthos exclaimed playfully.

Aramis gave him a cheeky grin. “ IT! Porthos please, his name is Henry.” It or rather Henry was quite cute now he wasn't running around causing chaos or biting people's arms, but Porthos was still wary of those sharp teeth. His arm would be fine, thankfully no stitches needed, much to his relief. 

“So everything sorted then?” Porthos asked.

“Yer, yer. Everything's fine, I apologised, he apologised. I went in for a hug and he gave me that glare, so I tactically retreated.” Aramis continued to play with Henry. “ No need to fret Porthos, all is right once more.” 

They were silent for a moment. It was a comfortable silence that Porthos always found he had with Aramis. It seemed to be the basis for their friendship, they didn't need words to fill in the awkward space that people often found that they had to. After knowing the man for 9 years and they have lived together for 6 of thous years. After Aramis’s apartment became haunted he had stayed with Porthos till he found a new place, that had still yet to happen. Aramis just felt like home now. Their antics and roommate arguments where everything Porthos loved to hate.

Before he met Athos which was a few years before Aramis bombarded both of their lives, Porthos didn't really have anything he was proud of. Sure he had friends and a really really shitty apartment and an education that he knew wasn't going to get him far, but he wanted more, and as much as he hated his aura ability, it was the only reason he had a family now. This makeshift brotherhood he had found with Athos and Aramis and now d’Artagnan was worth so much more than his varying foster parents. He knew even at his young age when he was put into foster care, that the government could never supply him the family he had lost. But he found this one, all on his own and it was his.

This was his home and his family, and he was so very afraid to lose it. His fear was sparked from the aura’s he saw. The inseparables would self-destruct before any outside forces beat them down. With all their differing problems he was surprised it hadn't happened yet.

Athos’s soul let off such a sense of self-hatred that it made Porthos want to strangle that ex-wife of his.Porthos only know about her through drunken ramblings. It also told Porthos that Athos’s drinking was barely under control, but it had been like that for years now. Porthos had noted an improvement when Aramis had joined them, and he has noticed yet again another improvement since d’Artagnan’s rather abrupt entrance. Maybe slowly Athos would find some sort of peace. The poor man had been chasing his demons for far too long already, but Porthos knew that the finish line was still quite a way of.

d’Artagnan, the poor kid, was still dealing with his father’s death. A sort of misty grey often overtook the younger man. Porthos has had his fare share of grief and helps when he can, but over time he knew the grey will fade. The boy also often felt inadequate for their team because he was new and inexperienced, he shouldn't worry though, they have all already accepted him. Praise from Athos quickly always gave a spark to the boys colour. He was young and still had a lot to learn, but the kid exceeded most expectations.

The fact that d’Artagnan could choose to leave after his training period finished, they have all become attached to the pup and the thought that he could choose to leave, it just wouldn't happen, Porthos wouldn't let it happen. d’Artagnan was part of the inseparables now whether he liked it or not.

Aramis probably worried him the most. The Spanish man had an unnatural amount a charm and sophistication but acted like a child usually out of boredom. His boredom usually led to other things as well like his lack or self-preservation. Aramis had a reckless streak a mile wide, and the devil's luck to go with it. The man wore his emotions on his sleeve and craved attention, Porthos was always ready to oblige. He needed the structure that Porthos brought, something to steady him, to balance his raging emotions that sort to control him. Porthos liked being the container that held the storm Aramis was a bay. He feared what would have become of the man had they not met.

Despite Aramis’s silliness and lack of maturity, Aramis could become deadly serious in seconds and had a fearful temper when he got angry enough. Porthos had only seen it twice and he never wanted to witness such a change it personality every again. The other two he could read, he knew them. 

d’Artagnan’s face was like a book, he couldn't hide nor contain his emotions. Athos was permanently grumpy, but Porthos had known him long enough to know the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth as a smile and the movement of his hands when he is nervous or worried. But with Aramis, he was constantly learning new things about the man. Porthos knew Aramis, just not all of him.

The most worrying and frustration thing about Aramis was that he didn't make sense. The man's aura was never clear. when Porthos looked at Aramis’s aura it wasn't clean like most peoples. Aramis’s aura was like looking through translucent glass or mucky water. The colour selecting his emotions and thought was still there, but it was like it was behind something, blocking it slightly. Porthos couldn't work it out for years until they were on a case about a demon cursing children. The children displayed similar murkiness as Aramis does. 

The children had been taken to a mental institution of somewhere in the county. They had been found covered in their parent's blood, just standing there, their eyes empty. Porthos had had nightmares of those eyes for weeks after. They never recovered or at least that was what he had heard. One of the doctors told him they whereat really human anymore, just sort of there, not enough of a soul to classify as being human. Like you couldn't call a haunted object human because the only human part was the soul it was connected to.

After the case Aramis head been distant, but then they had been even Athos. The whole thing had been long and too gruesome for them, especially considering it had involved children. They didn't speak about the case, just like they didn't speak about Athos’s ex-wife.

Porthos knew Aramis hated the topic of why he entered the SIU. Porthos wanted Aramis to know that it didn't matter to him, so he never asked, he didn't share it with Athos either. Porthos had known his best friend long enough to know the man ran from anything serious and would see it as a betrayal, hence the ridicules amount of girls or sometimes boys the man brought home.

So when they argued like earlier today it terrified Porthos to the depths of his soul. He had risked trusting them, he had risked opening up and having people. They were his and he couldn't afford to loose them now.  
Everything seemed calm, cases went by easily. But things seemed too calm. Porthos doubted that it would last, and his gut kept telling him something dark was sitting on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to a lot of school work and exams, the next chapter will be posted this time next week or next Friday. I do try and get two chapters a week. That hasn't worked out great, but anyway.  
> Thanks for reading and all. :D


	8. The Fear of Death Follows From the Fear of Life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay. Marsac is in this one.

The inseparables poured over their new files that lay on top the mountain of paper work that had slowly been consuming each of there desks. More and more cases of odd spiritual unrest have been piling up for the last week and the SIU was Having a hard time keeping up. The Marie de Medici case had been stagnant since her disappearance four weeks ago. Athos hates to say it but the case is beyond cold, but still, it sits on the corner of his desk because Treville refuses to just leave it there. But the inseparables have other things to worry about.

“ This is ridiculous, Iv got three new complaints of spirits walking into peoples houses. One walked in during the two kids dinner time and scared them to near death.” Porthos complained. 

“ Iv got two cases of possession, in both cases after being possessed the victim when on to cook roast dinner and then went on to the neighbour's house and did the same thing,” Athos added.

“ Ha, I win. Four members of the same deceased family have come back to sing karaoke at all of the pubs and clubs on Main Street, and when they leave the premises power go’s out. But there are no faults in any of the electrical systems.” Aramis said with a grin. 

d’Artagnan walked in with a tray of coffees and a confused frown, “ What did you win?” He questioned.

“ I'm not initially sure.” Aramis got up to get his and Porthos’s coffee off of D’Artagnan, then presided to sit just on the edge of Porthos’s desk, pushing a few files to fit and handing him his coffee.

“ Isn't this like a lot of spirit stuff for three days? “ D’Artagnan said will passing Athos his coffee and taking a sip of his own.

“ Yes, it is actually.” Athos started, the other two nodded in agreement. “ Aramis, do you think you could go talk to that dead friend of yours? Maybe he knows something.” 

Aramis rolled his eyes at this, “ yes, yes. You know its very impolite to remind them that their dead, Athos. I really don't think they appreciate it.” 

“ Ha ha, see that's why we never send Athos to do the talking,” Porthos said between sips. Athos gave him a face of indifference. “ Whens the next full mood anyway.” For only on a full moon and at midnight can spirits who have been buried for over 10 years can be seen, most don't have the energy to come up any other time, especially the older ghosts.

“ This Saturday.” Athos read off of his calendar.

“ But its only Monday.” Porthos grounded.

“ Be thankful it hasn't just passed.” Athos countered, Then turned back to his personal mound of paper work. Porthos did the same.

“ So who's this deceased friend of yours, Aramis?” D’Artagnan turned to Aramis once he was back to his own desk.

“ An old friend called Marsac.”

 

—

 

It was freezing. The four men stood outside in the middle of winter, waiting for the minutes to tick by. Aramis was doing a little dance to keep his appendages warm, it wasn't really succeeding. d’Artagnan mussed that Aramis should be warm enough in his long sleeve t-shirt, two jumpers, winter jacket, black scarf and red beanie. But the man persisted to hop from one foot to the next as if he was walking on hot ashes in one of those circus acts. He looked oddly penguin-like hoping with his hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulder hunched. He noticed the other man eyeing his fingerless gloves. Porthos stood firm and tall, a small smile on his face as he watched his best friends dance with amusement. Athos continued to check his watch.

Things got serious on Tuesday when a spirit decided to cause a hit and run. It was only a matter of time that more restless or vengeful spirits starting to act up. They didn't have time for personal issues, people were staring to get hurt. They had gone to Treville for his opinion on the matter, he seemed highly concerned about how unnatural the activity was.

The week had gone slowly, more cases had piled up at an alarming rate and Aramis slept less and less. Aramis looked pale and just plain old tired, he sure felt it too. His nightmare had been coming back ever since Athos suggested to go talk to Marsac, but so far he had hidden them from Porthos and that's all that mattered.

Athos looked at his watch again. 11:58. “ two minutes, you better start heading up.” 

Aramis stilled his jiggling to looked over his shoulder at the pitch black graveyard behind a rather tall metal fence before making his way to the gate, opening it and going inside. D’Artagnan made to follow. To be perfectly honest D’Artagnan didn't like this one bit. He had had plenty of unwanted experience with spirits since joining the SIU. And now on a full moon,( when spirits where at there most powerful), in a creepy graveyard straight out of a horror move squeaky gates, mist and all. D’Artagnan didn't want to go in at all.

Porthos shot his arm out to bare is path before he had even finished his first step, he looked up at the man, puzzled. “ Not you lad. Marsac doesn’t like unfamiliar face’s.” 

Porthos dropped his arm and turned his attention to Aramis, who had stopped in front of a grave in the centre of the crematory.

“ Its midnight,” Athos said in a low tone. Then looked up at Aramis.

When D’Artagnan turned back to look at Aramis, he found another man across from the Spaniard, sitting on the grave Aramis had been waiting in front of. He was expecting a modern man, who may have died a few years back, an old friend of Aramis’s. But to his surprise, the man was young in age, but his clothes were a thing of a very distant past. The man's clothes where of leather and a cloth cape wrapped around his shoulders and down his back. The man also had a weapons belt, equipped with a long thin sword in its scabbard and a musket. The man, Marsac he presumed, slouched on the grave like he really didn't care anymore, but then, d’Artagnan thought if you where dead, would you care?

The man; Marsac, smiled sadly and began talking. The convocation lasted about 12 minuets but didn't carry across the graves to their ears. Marsac looked sorry to see Aramis go but smiled that sad smile, all the same, tuned and faded into the mist, The same mist that seemed to lap at Aramis’s shins and shift with his ever move.

Aramis stood there a moment, D’Artagnan could see that his hands where fist by his side.Then he turned and began to walk back across the graveyard to the large gate, his hands wiped tears from his eyes as he marched across the grass, between the graves. 

Once back in their company, gate closed and relocked. Aramis smiled and began rubbing the warmth back into his hands. “ I believe we have some much-needed information, brothers.” 

“Good, well discus it back at your apartment.” Athos eyed both Aramis and Porthos. They needed a brake in these cases after a week long with nothing but more cases to show for it. 

Porthos put a comforting arm around his best-friends shoulder “ Let's head home before you freeze.” They all smiled despite the obvious sadness in Aramis’s eyes.

 

—

 

Aramis didn't hate seeming Marsac, but he certainly didn't enjoy it. Their friendship had ended with a twisted form of betrayal, but betrayal none-the-less. Aramis understood why his best-friend at the time had left him in the snow, bloodied and broken as he was, he remembered what had happened with perfect clarity. He often wondered if was some curse that he remembered his deaths with such accuracy, it made his nightmares become his reality in the moment, impossible to wake up form. It was just another way to torture him.

He found the grave that didn't belong to Marsac but was their set meeting point. Marsac’s bones lay underneath at least two layers of other deceased, somewhere lost in this graveyard. No stone or cross with his name etched on it to make his place, where he belonged now, among the dead. 

Marsac came out of the mist in front of him, he seemed to be made of it the way it blended with his body.

“ Rene,” he spoke in greeting with a whispered voice that carried only on the faint breeze that past Aramis’s ears. Marsac smiled, and Aramis was flung 300 years back to their friendship and camaraderie that couldn't be rivalled by any other pair. The memories brought tears to Aramis’s eyes, unable to stop them, he let them fall. Marsac continued to smile none-the-less.

“ You know I would like you to visit, just chat at least once.” Marsac looked across to the three men standing guard just outside of the cemetery. “ You’ve adopted another I see, young too.” 

“ Yer that's d’Artagnan, he’s barely 25. And no, you're not meeting him either.”

“Come on Rene, why not?”

“We both know your jealousy, Marsac ” The banter came back in quick concession, their old friendship was built on the banter of soldiers. 

“ You haven't told them, have you.” Marsac gave him a pointed stare. Aramis shook his head, then hung in low. “ That curse of yours will course more and more issues if you continue to ignore it, Rene. It's like your gloating it sometimes. What did you think would happened, a curse to die in the cold, and then going on a mission in the middle of winter to a place that never fucking stops snowing.”

“ It was a training mission Marsac, I didn't think anything would go wrong. And you know there is more to it than just the cold,” Aramis whispered. His shame and self-hatred on the matter made his voice brake. Aramis had found Marsac’s resting place when came back many many years later. Marsac had thought he was a ghost as well when they first met again. But Marsac went straight through him when he went for a hug. Aramis had to explain his situation then or at least the part that he understood, Merlin was better at explaining the whole thing. Marsac had been understanding till he came to the same concussion that Aramis had; Savoy had happened because of Aramis.

Marsac just sighed. “Nothing we can do about it now is there. Me dead and you living a lie, what a pair we make ay.” Their trust in each other HAD been absolute because back then you needed someone to watch your back at every turn. Then Savoy had happened and Marsac left him alone. Aramis would never voice his suspicions that they only reason Savoy happened because Aramis had to die in the snow, and the universe saw in as a good opportunity to fix the little issue of him being alive. That was how the curse worked, what every higher power there was didn't like him. He was a colossal screw-up, a mix of curses and old dark magic. He shouldn't exist anymore, but the spirit world wouldn't accept him because of the curse and the living world wouldn't accept him because of his connection to Morgana and what she had done to him. He didn't belong on either side and it shouldn't hurt as much as it did, to not belong. But the horrid reminder was in his everyday life.

In Savoy, he didn't even know he had so much to loose, His entire team, everyone one of his friends dying in front of him, then Marsac’s desertion. He had plenty of time to think about the whole thing before he had finally died, cold, alone and with so much grief he was wishing for the end. 

It was his connection to Morgana that kept him coming back again and again. She owned him after all and wouldn't let her puppet cut his strings. He wasn't meant to be here, walking around with a job and friends. He knew he was meant to be used, he was brought back for that purpose and only that. The cures kept him in check, reminding him that he only brought death in his wake, Savoy was proof enough of that. Aramis turned and looked back to his friends, his brothers.

“This isn't what you came here to discuss was it, Rene. Get on with it so can go back to living your life.” He spat the last sentence. Marsac hated that Aramis was alive, in his view, Aramis or rather Rene belonged with the dead, Aramis wouldn't disagree, but he didn't have a choice in that matter. They couldn't seem to get along for more then 5 minuets now that Marsac was dead and Aramis was back. Too much had happened between them. Marsac would never forgive Aramis for Savoy, neither would Aramis. Aramis had tried to forgive Marsac for leaving him to die, but he couldn't let the betrayal go. It had been an open wound and even now healed, it still left a scar.

“ No, no it wasn’t.” Aramis sniffled, pausing to get some strength behind his voice,“ There have been a lot of spirit’s playing up lately, in the last week. Much more than usual.” 

Marsac nodded along “ Yer people are scared, their running.” 

“ From what?”

“ Maybe two, three weeks ago, spirits stared going missing. Just disappearing from there burial spots.”Aramis made a gesture to continue. “ When they didn't show up again, people started to get worried. Then this young feller told me that there was this woman, who was collecting souls to get their power or something. So people got scared and anyone who could leave their cemetery, well left. The rest of us just sat back and watched.” 

“This could be bad. What do you know about this woman?”

“ The rumours say she died awhile ago, but came back. Her husband murdered her or something, some people say she killed her self and blamed it on the husband, either way, made her vengeful. Apparently, she’s got dark hair and is undebatably beautiful. A witch of some kind.”

Aramis brow creased, and he ran his hand through his hair. Marsac gave him a worried look.   
“ Somethings happening isn't it, this isn't just some nutter witch playing around, is it.”

Aramis took a deep breath “ No Marsac, I don't think so. I think this witch or necromancer is someone I know, the one I told you about.” Aramis said wile looking over at his friends behind the metal fence. Marsac frowned at that. The blond remembered that convocation well, it had been the first one they had had when Rene came back.

Marsac followed his gaze to Aramis’s chosen family. “ They don't know do they.” Aramis shook his head. “ You should tell them, then they can prepare.”

“ No, if I can help it, they will have nothing to do with it.” At that Marsac turned to leave.

As the fog consumed him he voice hung in the air in an ironically ghostly way “ Your plans never work out, Rene, Why would they start now.” Aramis smiled softly as he watched him go, tears started anew.

He took a moment to compose himself, forcing himself to breathe deeply and steadily, memories of Savoy kept slipping into his mind. The nightmares hadn't stopped and he knew this meeting with his former best friend would only make them worse. He wouldn't sleep tonight and he knew it, he just hoped Porthos wouldn't notice. He didn't want the big man worrying.

After he began walking back down to his brothers, wiping the tears away as he went. Once in front of them, Athos gave him a pointed stare with raised eyebrows in silent question. The cold had seeped back into his limbs, God he hated the cold.“I believe we have some much-needed information, brothers.” He said wile rubbing he hands together. He couldn't help longing for d’Artagnan’s very warm looking gloves.

“Good, we’ll discus it back at your apartment.” Athos eyed both Aramis and Porthos. Aramis was rather looking forward to their nice cosy apartment, with heating.

Porthos put a comforting arm around his shoulder. Porthos could always tell when Savoy was getting to him, even if the man had now idea what was actually troubling Aramis, this time was no different. “ Let's head home before you freeze.” They all smiled.

-

As soon as they were back at the apartment Porthos turned on the heating. Personally, he didn't think it was that cold, yes it was cold but inside away from the chill of the wind, it wasn't that cold. But Porthos had been living with Aramis for six years and he had learnt not to argue about the heating. In autumn, winter and the beginning of spring the heating was on. Porthos had also learnt not to look at the bill each quarterly. Aramis paid for the heating so Porthos kept his mouth shut. That was the deal.

The apartment had belonged to Porthos since he had gotten back from the army just over 10 years ago, he had met Aramis a year before. Once Aramis had gotten out himself two years after Porthos left, he didn't really have anywhere to call home, so Porthos had suggested or demand - depending on who you ask - that Aramis stay in Paris and he had. After Aramis dinghy little box he called affordable living had become possessed, Aramis had stayed at Porthos apartment for what was meant to be a week and very quickly the guest room became Aramis’s room.  
Before Aramis had moved in the living area was as bare as the rest of the house. Now after having way too much spare-time and a best-friend with insomnia, the apartment had been painted a grey blue - Porthos hadn't known you could get high off of paint and apparently neither did Aramis, which had been a very memorable experience, especially for Athos -, a bookcase fitted in and memories covered the walls, coffee table and any places that could fit a frame or two.  
It made the apartment a home rather than just some place to shower and sleep. Aramis had made it a home. Aramis had made the place Porthos’s first proper home since he had been moved out of his mother's house after she had died when he was eight. Porthos also liked to think Athos sore it as the same, judging by how many nights he spends on their couch and a few times beside them in bed.

The rest of the team filtered out into the decent sized living area, wile Aramis went to get beers and Porthos turned on lights and fiddled with the heating some more. Athos went straight to ‘his’ sofa chair and sat down with s wary sigh. After d’Artagnan took off his shoes respectably and started shredding his layers, d’Artagnan found his way to a corner spot on the large sofa. Aramis and Porthos joined them, next to each other, Aramis using the bigger man as a back rest and resting his feet on d’Artagnan’s lap much to the younger man's annoyance.

Once everyone was settled, beers in hand and comfortable in their designated spots, sipping their drink, Aramis started explains what Marsac had told him.

“ So what your saying is there is some witch necromancer woman out there kidnapping dead people.” Porthos questions after Aramis finished his recap of the night's earlier events.

“ Not kidnapping, she’s killing dead people,” Aramis said while yawning, he turned slightly till he was laying across Porthos rather than leaning on him.

“ You can't kill people who are already dead.” d’Artagnan butted in with way too much enthusiasm for 1 am.

Aramis just hummed in response as he buried his head into Porthos’s jumper. Porthos didn't really care about being used as a pillow, but he didn't want to stay there all night. He just hoped Aramis didn't fall asleep because the idiot hadn't been sleeping again lately and Porthos wasn't going to disturb any shut eye the Spaniard could get. He sighed and sipped his beer.

“ No, but she can take their…” Athos paused trying to find the right words. “ their energy, I guess. They wouldn't exist anymore.” Athos drunk the rest of his beer and reached across the coffee table to steal Aramis abandoned drink. 

d’Artagnan recoiled a little at Athos words, he suddenly had the urge to run home and visit his father. “ But why?” He said instead.

Both Porthos and Athos shrugged. “ To do something big and probably bad.” Aramis murmured while pulling himself up and dragging himself off of Porthos and the couch. He walked, head down, to his room and closed the door behind him. Hopefully going to sleep. Aramis had been trying to not show any signs that he was sending his night awake and around the apartment rather than in he cosy bed asleep. It was painfully obvious the way he couldn't hide it from them but still tried to.

“You two staying?” Porthos said while rubbing his eyes and yawning. 

“ I best go, Constance will get worried.” d’Artagnan made to move.

“ Will she?” Athos raised his eyebrows and gave d’Artagnan a pointed look. 

d’Artagnan gave Athos daggers in his eyes but otherwise chose to ignore their leader and started putting his shoes and coat back on.

“ I'll stay, keep an eye on him,” Athos said while nodding towards Aramis’s room. “ You need to sleep Porthos, you can't stay up all night worrying about him.” 

Porthos stood to see d’Artagnan out. “ I know, it’s just that winter will be here soon and you know how he gets.” 

“ How who gets?” d’Artagnan questioned.

“ Aramis, he has insomnia and it gets a lot worse during the winter, nightmares and stuff,” Porthos answered. Too tired to really get into it right now. He was fine with d’Artagnan knowing and he knew Aramis wouldn't mind.

“ Well if there's anything I can do to help, just let me know alright.” d’Artagnan smiled way to brightly for this time the morning.

“ Sure thing pup, but don't worry too much, you've got Constance to worry about.” Porthos gave the younger man not so subtle look. 

d’Artagnan gave the same daggers to the big man as he had done to their leader.

After the pup left, Athos helped Porthos clear away the beer bottles and get pillows and blankets out of the linen cupboard. They said their goodnights and both men went their separate ways, one to the couch and the other to his room. Both hoped to have a peaceful night sleep, uninterrupted by their friend's nightmares.


	9. The past keeps coming back to haunt you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has arrived, he may seem a little OOC but he is like 1500 years old and he probably change a little over the years.

Rene heard a rustle, a branch break under someone's foot. Despite knowing he was safe with his brothers in arms keeping watch, he couldn't help the instinct of danger lurking around the corner. Rene stood in his small tent he was sharing with Marsac and put his knee high boots on, leaving his blue boat cloak behind. He made his way outside into the bitter cold and padded his way across the snow to the small fire, made for the two Musketeers on guard duty while the other slept.

Marsac sat among them, laughing and waved him over. Despite the cold Rene was glad for this little holiday that was meant to be a training excise. The captain of the king's Musketeers had allowed 22 of his finest soldiers to train on the Savoyen borders over the Easter holidays. 

“ You should be resting Rene, we have guard tomorrow night,” Marsac said over the fire.

“ Arr yes, but shouldn't you be sleeping as well,” Rene replied snarkily.

“ You've got me there, Rene the most handsome of soldiers and one of great wit as well, ready to woo the most charming of ladies.” Marsac jested and moved to sit beside his bat friend.

“ Marsac I'm sure you can woo some lass one day, whether she is charming or not I can not say. But there is no need for jealousy amongst brothers.” 

Suddenly the screams of friends and the smashing of swords perforated their banter and in a brief moment, their peaceful campsite had turned into a battlefield. Shadows screamed from the trees, armed with swords and muskets. Rene and Marsac even the good soldier jumped into action, slashing and stabbing the enemies as they danced around the corpses of their friends at their feet.

Blood coated the snow and dyed it red till the world was a sea of his friend scattered boys and blood. Something hard hit Rene’s head and a sharp pain in his side sent him to the ground half on top off a musketeer he couldn't see the face of. The world tilted and swayed as someone dragged him away from his friends. He fought to stand or at least find his knife to defend himself. The snowy enclave where they had made camp, slowly sunk away and became overgrown by trees. The screams of dying men sunk away till only the science of the night were all that could be heard. 

Maracas blood hair came into view, a light amongst the darkness of the forest. Rene tried to say his name but all that came out was a mumble of consonants. But Marsac looked up at the noise, his face one of relief. 

“ Rene,” Marsac breathed out. “ You're gonna be okay, you just got to stay awake.”

Rene looked down at the mess of blood covering his shirt and Maracas hands buried into his stomach, trying to stop the bleeding.

Rene foraged on his words, “ We have to go back, help them.” He slurred his words, Rene just hoped Marsac could understand him.

“ Their gone Rene, there's no-one left to help.” Marsac’s voice creaked as he spoke.

Rene felt his eyes begin to close and he knew he probably wouldn't wake again and if he did it would be many years from now. But Rene did wake again, hours later as the sun rose, alone.

He called for his friend and tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't hold him upright and gravity seemed to have too much of a hold on his muscles. He tried again, this time finding a sort of balance and slowly made his way back to his brothers in arms and when his legs gave out he crawled. 

The carnage was beyond what he was expecting, nothing could have prepared him for the mess of blood and body, the shock sent him to his knees.

He let himself sink back into the snow. He didn't feel the cold anymore, it didn't matter, nothing mattered. The cold had already worked its way into his nerves numbing them. Rene was glad the cold had already numbed him while he slept, he would not have appreciated the reminder, the cold always brought of the veil. With nothing left to fight for and not much chance of seeking help, Rene waited for death. He waited days till the blood loss and cold finally won and the eternal sleep was welcomed.

Aramis woke gasping and tangled in his sheets. sweat dripped from his forehead and he stumbled out of his bed and to the bathroom. Bile rose in the back of his throat, he held himself up on shaking legs and purged himself of his dinner. Once the gagging stopped, he let himself fall to the ground with his back against the wall, gasping for breath once more. Aramis screwed his eye shut and hit his head hard on the tiled wall behind him when the images of the snowy Savoy wouldn't get out of his head.

He heard the bathroom door open and Aramis hoped he hadn't woken Porthos. A warm hand pulled his arms way from his face. Aramis opened his eyes to find Athos kneeling in front of him with a sad smile on his face. Athos slowly, as not to startle the Spaniard wiped the tears away from his cheeks that Aramis hadn't even known had fallen. 

Athos pulled the younger man to his unsteady feet and guided him to the couch where Athos had been sleeping not 5 minutes ago. He draped the blanket he had been using over Aramis shoulder and rubbed his arms to try and bring some warmth back into him. Aramis’s body heat seemed to have deserted him and he sat shivering wrapped in blankets.

After a few tries, Athos managed to get Aramis leaning back on the couch and surrounded by pillows and blanking as if they could chase away the demons in his head. Athos turned on the tv and found some old western cowboy thing that would only be on at this time in the morning. He muted it and settled down to get a few more hours sleep, even if that was with Aramis pressed tightly to his side and one arm wrapped around the younger’s middle. Aramis was freezing against his own sleep warm skin. He should warm soon. 

Aramis was grateful for the silence the Athos always brought with his comfort, so unlike Porthos loud and tactile was of soothing Aramis. Athos was quite in a way that repeated the dead the Aramis brought with him in these moments. And the man's evasion to physical contact made every little tester worth so much more.

Athos would not try and sooth Aramis back to sleep, he would put the tv on as a distraction and be a silent witness to whatever Aramis decided to do next, whether that was sleep or let fear rule his awareness. It did not matter, Athos would be there next to him and wake if he was needed. That's all he needed to do.

 

-

 

Athos didn't particularly enjoy spending time in Treville's office. It was a place too often for heated arguments and bad news. Outside of the office and out of the Garrison, Treville was more of an old friend then his boss. And due to knowing the man as a child, because of him being friends with his Mother, Athos sore the elder man as a sort of father figure, though he would never admit it. His own father had been the distant kind, Athos fully blamed the family wealth for that. But Athos in his youth never craved his father's attention like he had done to Treville when he visited the old country house over 25 years ago when Athos didn't exist and a small dirty blond haired boy named Oliver did.

He and his brother Thomas would wait impatiently at the steps of their way-to-big house waiting for a smiley but stern man to come up the drive with presents. He always brought treasures and even though the two brothers had everything they could have ever wanted, they treasured the toys and trinkets from Treville’s travels. The last time Athos had seen Treville while he was Oliver, was during his mother's funeral when he was 18. Alison de la Fere had been as beautiful and she was kind, her funeral had been worthy of her life.

Athos didn't see Treville again for 4 years. 4 years in which Oliver’s life shattered and in the ruins was left a broken and damned man named Athos. Treville had found him in a cell a year after his brother's murder and his wife suicide, drunk and charged with drunken disorderly and causing unrest. 

Treville made it his personal mission to get his friend's son on track once again. Treville had let Athos have his freedom but moderated the amount of alcohol kept around. When Athos mind became overrun with past memories and his addiction got the better of him, Treville would sit and drink with him. Keeping a close eye on the quantity, but never completely taking Athos’s refuge away from him. It had worked, Athos still drunk, but not to kill himself, but just to take the edge off of his own thoughts. Now with his brothers by his side, he found the bottles call less and less and only in times of trouble. 

When Treville had been tasked with the SIU, he had offered Athos a job. A hard working and most importantly a distracting job. Athos had accepted, wanting to pay the older man back. A year later, a house fire a death and a man named Porthos happened. Two years after that a little sniper friend of Porthos’s from the army joined their little gang and the inseparables where formed. 7 and a half years later and a ridiculous amount of scars, broken bones and concussions, a pesky hyperactive kid joined the older men.

It all led to this moment now, where he sat in Treville’s office waiting for the man and his much-expected disappointment and probable anger. It had been 4 weeks since Marie de Medici’s disappearance. A whole month and nothing, not even a whisper. Treville was no doubt wanting to know why. Or Treville could possibly be wondering why Aramis was acting weird due to his nightmares, but Athos knew that Treville probably already knew that.

The door opened with a little bit more source than needed. Athos couldn't help but sit up a little straighter. Treville rounded on Athos, still, the captain of the Garrison sat opposite him. Both men sat silently, waiting for the other to open the convocation. Athos with an unmeaning apology or Treville with a snapped command.

Athos took this tense moment to study the older man. Treville wasn't young anymore, his hair had begun to turn grey a few years ago and lines angled his face to the point he always looked anger or intimidation, lines built out of worry and street of running a whole unit and protecting France from impossible creatures. Athos couldn't help feeling slightly guilty for what himself and his team had contributed to it. 

“Dust remains were found in cell 3B, Marie de Medici’s cell,” Treville broke the silence. The captain glared over his desk, His eye held a menacing stare, his jaw clenched. Treville knew more, just what?

Athos had not been expecting that. Marie de Medici was dead, had been killed in the Garrison. Athos frowned, who?

“ The security tapes had been taped over,” Athos mumbled more to himself, Treville already knew the facts of the case and apparently a lot more then Athos knew.

“ Did you know?” The question cut through Athos thoughts, sharp and cold and he honestly felt offended by the lack of trust. But then again Marie de Medici had hurt d’Artagnan, had almost killed him. The chances that the inseparables had coordinated some fort of vendetta, was well plausible knowing the team's history.

Athos rubbed his hands over his face and shook his head. His posture losing all stature, he leant forwards, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Shit he thought, this was bad really bad. Could one of the others have done it? He hated to question them, but he knew them. Aramis was violently loyal and Porthos whole personality was protective. 

Treville slouched in his chair a little, the stress so obviously flowing off of him now that he had aired his suspicions. “ The others?”

Athos honestly didn't think so, but he had been wrong before, but he would stand by his brothers to the end. He shook his head again. To kill someone like that, criminal or not, was an assassination, it was cruel and cold in a way Athos could never imagine the closeted people in his life being.

“Athos, I need to know if you have any suspicions.” Treville sounded sad at the thought of one off his men committing such an act. Treville thought of the inseparable's as sons, and the captain was afraid of what he would do, what he would jeopardise to protect the four of them. 

“ No,” Athos said with more confidence than he felt.

“Okay,” Treville sounded relieved. “ You know what this means, don't you?”

Athos nodded while he spoke,” A mole.”

“ I interview Marie de Medici a few house before she was executed. She spoke of a woman coming to get her out, she gloated about it. A necromancer.” Treville paused, “ I believe this mole is most likely working for her, killing her off before she could gloat anymore.” Athos nodded along.

“ Marsac. Aramis’s dead friend we went to see yesterday. He spoke of a necromancer, a woman.” Treville leant forward, fully engaged in the new information. “ He thinks she’s collecting souls for something, but as you know souls can be tricky to handle. What on earth could she be planning?” 

“ Do you know anything else?”

“That's about all, Marsac didn't really know much.”

Treville pulled a huge pile of files out of one of his draws, Athos eyed it suspiciously. Treville tapped it as if unsure he should have it out on display. “ Athos, you must no speak a word of this outside this office. Do you understand me? Not to the others either Athos, not a word.”

Athos nodded.

“ Good. These files are all we have on an unknown necromancer.” Athos eyes the pile, at least twenty odd cases as Treville continued to speak. “ We know ridiculously little about her for all the trouble she had been causing.” He tapped the pile protectively. “ Most of these cases are homicides and a few would be classified as massacres. As well as the spirit cases I have to add now. I want you to keep an eye out on any more cases that pass through your desk.”

“Jesus Treville, this could be big and very very bad.” The last big rebellion was in the 1850’s, humans against supernatural. People had been massacred in the streets, supernatural creatures culled into almost extinction. The humans had won, but only because of the large population difference and the infighting amongst the werewolves and vampires. Laws had been put in place and only in the last 50 odd years had the crueller and more oppressing laws been rewrite and units just like this one were made so supernatural creatures had some kind of freedom. It had all started will a witch, a manipulative witch, one who didn't care about the mass death, who revelled in the chaos she had brought. 

“ Merlin connected me, he wants some help. If you get the chance with him alone, ask him if he knows anything. You will not speak of this to anyone. There's a war coming, Athos. It's just beyond the horizon.”

 

-

 

Athos walked down the halls of the Garrison in search for the rest of his team. He found Porthos in the kitchen and after telling the big man that Merlin wanted to see them again, they both left in such for the other two. 

Merlin was an old very powerful wizard, but maybe a little too old. Either way, Treville respected him and Merlin did help out when he was really needed. In return for his occasional services, Merlin needed their help with usually menial things and since Merlin seemed to like the inseparables more than the other teams, they got lugged with beckoning to his call.

They found Aramis sitting at his desk actually doing work for a change. After telling the Spaniard what Athos had told Porthos, neither were surprised when Aramis stated, with only a smidgen of honesty that he had to much paper work to do and couldn't waste time on visiting mad men in sewers. It wasn't that Aramis didn't like visiting Merlin, thought the two, but rather the obvious tension between the two. 

Aramis had visited Merlin once with them and after a quick strained conversation, which was mostly pleasantries between the two and what seemed like threats for more sinister talk. Aramis had avoided seeing the old man since. But Merlin still asked every time where Aramis was and was he. So they left Aramis in the Garrison with his paperwork and excuses.

d’Artagnan had the reaction a way they weren't quite expecting. After telling the youth about possibly having to go do something very disgusting for an old quack wizard, d’Artagnan was overjoyed about the ‘Merlin’ part of Athos speech. Because of cause d’Artagnan happened to be an expert in the legend of Camelot and the knights of the round table and was ecstatic to meet the man he thought a legend. Athos had also pointed out that if d’Artagnan wanted to stay in the SIU, he needed to learn about some of their assets.

Athos was quite looking forward to d’Artagnan’s disappointment. Merlin was old very grey and liked drinking tea and reading books. as well Athos was not convinced he was the ‘real’ Merlin if the story were true. He was probably just some old creepy man who liked the name and the legend that came with it.

 

-

 

Porthos quite liked visiting the unique old man; Merlin. He was defiantly odd but in a way that made Porthos curious, and despite the man's inability to be humble, he was kind and liked to talk and be talked to. Porthos often thought the old man lonely.

The walked to the overpass in the bitter cold, winter was only two weeks away. Just underneath the slabs of concrete holding up many cars was a rusted door that was just out of view if not at the right angle. They walked up the metal door tinged a brown and orange due to the age and knocked firmly. The three men waited patiently. and waited, and waited, then waited not so patiently. 

“ Maybe he’s not home?” d’Artagnan asked innocently. 

“ No. He’s home, he just thinks it’s funny.” Athos spoke with annoyance and a hint of budding frustration. 

As if waiting for Athos irritated words, the metals door put together with large bolts and slats of ageing metal that count last much longer, creaked open the entrance to that looked like a black abyss and suddenly every horror movie enhanced gut feeling made d’Artagnan want to run. But after being with the SIU for nearly six months he had learned his life practically was a horror movie. He had survived the first one and its many sequels he doubted he would not survive this one.

Athos gave d’Artagnan a look as if to say ‘really’ before marching forward through the open door. d’Artagnan schooled his features after that, he wouldn't let Athos think less of him for being maybe slightly scared of what could possibly be underneath Paris where the wizard lived. Then it hit him, catacombs.

“catacombs?” He questioned while pointing into the darkness. Porthos just gave a chuckle before pushing d’Artagnan forward and handing the lad a torch.

Once through the first smaller tunnel that was about the width of Porthos shoulder, d’Artagnan was already conceding that he did have claustrophobia and it just hadn't been triggered till now. 

“ Is this why Aramis doesn't come with you guys?” 

“ Ha no, Aramis knows this place like the back of his hand, before joining the SIU he did tours down here,” Porthos replied while turning sideways to fit through a particular small part.

“ What really?” 

Porthos just nodded.“ Aramis and Merlin don't really get along.”

“Why?”

“ Don’t really know, Merlin seemed nice enough and Aramis probably met him a few time back when he was doing tours. Maybe they had an argument.” 

“Shouldn't there be ghosts or something?” d’Artagnan voiced his worries while trying to keep his voice flat. He hadn't had a bad experience with a ghost yet and he really didn't want to have one down here.

“ Yes, there are a few, that's why we have to be careful.” Athos sounded so monotone for such a dark place. But then the older man had been down here before.

“ Don’t want to piss any of them off.” Porthos elaborated. “ And stay close, don't want to get lost and end up in a part infested by ghosts.” 

The tunnel opened up to a steep set of limestone stairs that ended in darkness. d’Artagnan used his torch and still couldn't see the bottom. Athos led the way down.

After more turns and twists and locked gates, the bone lined walls opened up to a well lite entrance to what d’Artagnan hoped was Merlins home. No matter how eccentric the wizard was d’Artagnan still wanted to know about whether the legend where true or just history twisted versions of something that didn't even happen in the first place. 

Athos knocked again and waited again. The much nicer looking door then the fist one opened soundlessly to a large room. The walls were of the same stone as the rest of the catacombs but thankfully without the skulls, they were lined with bookshelves. The floor, a patchwork of rugs much like their office and despite the lack of light bulbs or fire the room was warm and lite with a glow much like one a fireplace would give. 

The man holding the door open was not what d’Artagnan expected Merlin to look like. The man, d’Artagnan presumed was Merlin was old, much older than he thought, but then again he was meant to be about 1500 years old. He had stark white hair and a long tangled beard of the same colour. He wore a red robe from the forgotten era he belonged to. 

“ Come in, come in.” Merlin ushered them inside and slammed the door closed behind him. “ Well, who’s the new one then?” 

“ This is d’Artagnan.” Athos introduced him.

“ Hi,” d’Artagnan stuck his hand out but instead of shaking it Merlin slated it away and cupped his cheeks, inspecting me. 

“ Young isn't he,” Merlin spoke around him to the other two rather than to him.

“ Yes, he’s almost 26,” Porthos button in before d’Artagnan had a chance to. 

“ Ar Porthos its good to see you and Athos your as grumpy as ever I see. Aramis not with you?”

“Paperwork,” Athos growled out as an excuse. He was clearing getting annoyed at the old man. “ He sends his apologies. What was it you wanted us for this time.”

“ Right, business first and all that, you need to learn to lighten up a little, Athos.” 

Athos had to bite his tongue to stop a sarcastic retort from slipping loose. Merlin shuffled them to sit down around an old coffee table. The chairs where all miss matched, where extremely comfortable and a multitude of varying colours. 

“ Right I'm sure you're all aware of the sports acting a little funny recently.” They all nodded. “ Well your captain asked me to take a look and there’s a place where all the energy is going.”

“ So we have a location then?” Porthos asked.

“ Well yes,” Merlin handed Athos a piece of paper with an address on it. “But I warn you. The energy of this place is dark, cruel even. Go with caution.” 

“ Okay thank you, Merlin, we will be off now.” Athos made to stand.

“ Not so fast, I want to know what you find there and d’Artagnan’s going to stay with me.”

“ What I am?” d’Artagnan exclaimed.  
“ Yes. I don't get visitors anymore and I want to chat with someone. d’Artagnan has offered his voice and his ear. Even if he docent knows it.” Merlin explained.

“ d’Artagnan are you good with staying here till we get back. He really is a nice guy even if he’s a bit full on and it's not like with the fairies, you can drink the tea here. ” Porthos spoke quietly, not to offend the wizard.

“ Yes, it'll be fine. As long as I don't end up in the hospital again. I can ask him about Camelot.”

Porthos chuckled, “ He’s friendly, promise, we'll be back soon.”

d’Artagnan nodded.

With d’Artagnan’s agreement, they left their youngest in the hands of the wizard and Porthos and Athos made their way to Athos’s car. Once inside Athos looked at the address and his heart went cold. 45 Rue des Roseaux, Colmar. The address for the de la Fere country estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really didn't want to get written and was meant to be a lot longer, but I have saved it for the next chapter.
> 
> Let me know if there are any errors, please.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and comments are always appreciated.


	10. Lies and hidden danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter is so small and late, it was meant to be up on Friday. But iv been very busy.
> 
> Next chapter up on Thursday because I'm sorry and then another on Saturday.

Athos was pale, really fucking pale and Porthos was beginning to worry. Their leader's hands had a white knuckle grip on the black steering wheel and his eyes dead ahead. The strained silence had started since they had got in the car and despite Athos not being one for conversation the complete lack of words between the two was definitely a red flag for Porthos.

So they had sat for a 2 1/2 hour drive, in tense silence and Porthos was beginning to think he had done something wrong because nothing else was making sense. Athos was fine if not a little frustrated at Merlin’s, but now he seemed on the edge of a panic attack and that was definitely not a good thing when driving.

The radio played old country tunes and for something to do Porthos found himself switching the dial to find something else. This would usually make Porthos deserve a slap from Athos, it was one of the many reasons he and Aramis weren't allowed to sit in the front. But Athos seemed completely in his own head, eyes on the road ahead. It made the whole car a depiction of Athos strained emotions he was so desperately trying to hold in. Something had rattled his cage and Porthos was determined to find out what before it consumed his friend entirely.

After a ridiculously strained car ride, they pulled up to a mansion that sat surrounded by grassy hills and a backdrop of a dense forest. The image would have been serene if not for the obvious damage done to the property.

It was a small mansion, but a mansion all the same.The house would have been beautiful. Masterfully created decades ago for a rich and wealthy family. But had obviously not been lived in for what looked like 50 years. 

Age had made its mark on the mansion. It must have been built decades ago and held a decrepit Beauty if it had stayed in shape. Vines with perfect blue flowers strangled the bricks and found their way through every crevice and crack. On closer inspection, Porthos identified these flowers as forget-me-nots, but forget-me-nots don't grow on vines, which confused him further. 

The building bled with darkness. A sticky, thick cloud hung around it. Clinging to the roof tiles, dripping down the aged bricks and seeping out of the smashed windows. Porthos wondered if Athos could sense the shadow that held on to this forgotten place, or if he could just sense Porthos own dread.

Porthos looked over to his silent friend. Athos was not looking at the marvel which was before them. Instead, he had his eyes downcast, unblinking. Porthos watched as his leader pulled the handle to open the car door. The tense silence made the creek from old metal and mechanics of the door opening ring through the abandoned scenery. Without thinking Porthos reached across Athos’s lap and slammed the door closed once more before the older man could get out. Athos whipped his head around to glare at Porthos.

Neither man spoke, as they sat staring at each other. Athos with such a cold ice in his eyes it actually frightened Porthos, Porthos wouldn't show it. So he sat with one eyebrow raised and pretended that whatever was affecting his leader wasn't so obviously tiring him apart. 

“Tell me now,” Porthos spoke with authority he didn't really possess, but it also carried a protectiveness that Athos wouldn't dare fight. 

Athos continued to glare. “ I don't know what you mean.” 

Porthos hated how his close friend of nearly 10 years felt he needed to hide things from him. He understood Athos was a privet man but hadn't he and Aramis smashed down enough walls for the man to trust them. Hadn't they seen the worse drunken ramblings and soul crushing self-hatred to be trusted with things? Thats what hurt Porthos the most, he understood people had secrets, but were he not family now, didn't they trust each other?

“You've not been yourself since we left. And you will tell me what it is NOW. Because we are not going into that dark place without you covering my back, Do You Understand? ” Athos was not getting out of this that easily. They had a job to do and hopefully if Porthos could make that the priority Athos might just tell him what was wrong.

“ Porthos its nothing, let's go,” Athos spoke low, making it sound like a desperate order. He made to open the door again. 

But Porthos wasn't having it and forcefully closed it again. “ No, You are not doing this. Iv had enough silence from Aramis already and now you.” Porthos couldn't stop himself from spilling his fears. “It feels like everything is coming apart at the seems and I'm the only one trying to hold it together. Neither of you two talk anymore and we both know Aramis isn't sleeping and don't even try and hide the fact your drinking more ever since d’Art got bit. So don't sit there and pretend that everything is fine because we both know where that will lead, ” 

“Porthos I….” Athos was at a loss of what to say, he knew things had been strained between them all since d’Artagnan get hurt. Aramis had been silent about whatever was troubling him as well as his nightmare getting a lot worse recently. Athos could see the strain it was having on Porthos to see his friend so unlike himself without even using his empath ability. It was only a matter of time till the big man exploded, at least now it was contained. But Athos knew he had made it worse.

“ No, you do not get to tell me that everything is fine when it's not. You don't get to do that to me.” Porthos was no longer looking at his leader. To caught up in his own emotions to stop his friend from leaving the car anymore. Athos did not take his chance, instead, he sighed and leant back against his seat and looked at his old family home and how poisonous it had become.

“It's where Thomas died and..” He took a deep breath. “..and where Anne killed herself.” Athos voice was little above a whisper, reserved and void of emotion even through he stumbled to get the words out.

“ What?” Porthos sounded angry.

Athos took a shaky breath trying to will himself to say the words again. “ It's where she..” 

Porthos gently gripped Athos arm, stopping his words.

“ Treville told me this morning about a Necromancer, the same one we are looking for now. Aramis he…, Marsac he said.. and now we’re here and” Athos paused and took another shaky breath. “ God it's her Porthos, it's Anne I know it.”

“ Are you sure,” Porthos spoke warily. Porthos knew a lot about Athos dead wife. The older man only talked of her when he was well in his drink but that had happened often when they had fist met.

Athos just nodded.

“ I'm not meant to know that am I, what Treville told you?”

Athos shook his head.

They both stared at the house in front of them, a building lost with too much age for the few years that had passed. 

“ Okay, We go in, we go through every room like we would do on any other job. Then we go back and report to Merlin.” A pause, “ You don't get to feel guilty about this.” Porthos said the last part quietly.

“ I think I do.” Athos voice still little over a whisper.

“No, you don’t,” Porthos spoke as he opened his door, Athos followed suit.

They both exited the car on their respective sides. Despite the darkness that surrounded it, the building was like something out of a fairytale and would have been a very distant dream for a youthful Porthos. To think this is where one of his best friends had grown up, exaggerated the line between them. Such differing childhoods, but they were still here, together now, facing the same darkness.

 

-

 

d’Artagnan found sipping tea and eating biscuits with an all-powerful warlock was a little awkward. Neither had spoken in a while. d’Artagnan, for all his curiosity, wanted desperately to know about Camelot and the Knights, but he hadn't expected a grey man who rarely left his cave buried deep underneath Paris. d’Artagnan was starting to have his doubts. 

“ You look nervous for a boy that has been through what you have," Merlin spoke calmly. He had ben doing it the whole time, whenever d’Artagnan was thinking of something Merlin would start speaking about it. That was how they had spent the time, talking about nothing that d’Artagnan wanted to know. d’Artagnan was beginning to think that Merlin was just a really old psychic, who didn't know how to mind his own business.

“ I just wasn't expecting you to look like you do, that's all” d’Artagnan lowered his head in embarrassment.

Merlin laughed across from him. “ Were you expecting something more like this?” 

d’Artagnan looked up to see the old man's eye spark gold before the man in front of him was completely replaced with a dark hair bright blue eyed man about the same age as d’Artagnan himself. d’Artagnan choked on his tea at the shock of a suddenly much younger man now sat in front of him.

“ This better?” Merlin asked but didn't really expect an answer.

“ Are you really Merlin, as in from Camelot.” d’Artagnan asked hesitantly.

“ Who else would I be” Merlin gave d’Artagnan a smile. He didn't miss the way the kid sat forward in his seat “ Ask what you want.”

“ What was it like in Camelot and where you really a man servant? Was there really a dragon?…” d’Artagnan couldn't stop himself from redlining on, asked questions before Merlin had a chance to actually answer them. He asked all this with a grin on his face and his mind off in awe of a world full of castles and mythical creatures that time had destroyed.

d’Artagnan had expected Merlin to laugh like he had done all night at his curiosity. But instead, he gave a sad smile and waved for d’Artagnan to finish his ramblings. By the time the kid had asked a million questions and retold the legend of King Arthur and the knights of the round table, Merlin reapplied how much history had twisted and distorted the tale.

 

d’Artagnan looked at Merlin now with such expectations for grand adventure and heroic camaraderie. “ It didn't quite happen so cleanly as the story say. But it did happen sort of like you described.”

d’Artagnan waited for the warlock to continue.

“ It was a lot bloodier. A lot of people died, good and bad. It wasn't a grand adventure. It was war and years of it. I lost many friends and saw them being twisted into things that they would have killed before.” 

“But, yes there was a dragon,” Merlin said in a lighter tone, realising that he had really turned the conversation into a serious thing neither really wanted to discuss.

“ Sorry I didn't mean to bring back bad memories or anything,” d’Artagnan shyly said feeling bad for making Merlin think about his dead friends. After all, there wasn't anyone else around from that time. “ How do you know Aramis then?” He said to change the subject.

Merlin gave him an odd look that seemed to ask how he knew the Spaniard. “ The others said you two knew each other, Porthos thinks you guys had an argument and that's why he never comes with them to see you.” d’Artagnan clarified.

“ Well we didn't argue, but I knew Aramis a long time ago and well…. we grew apart I guess you could say,” Merlin spoke with caution, d’Artagnan could tell he picked his words carefully.

d’Artagnan sipped his tea again, “ How did you two meet then because an ancient warlock doesn't just meet up with a half Spanish womaniser.”

“ Well the brave idiot saved my life from a gryphon, of all things,” Merlin chuckled, d’Artagnan was glad to see the now young man's demean lighten. 

“ Wait… Saved your life. I thought you were immortal.” d’Artagnan questioned, maybe immortals could die from a gryphon for all d’Artagnan knew.

“ Arr well, I didn't know I was immortal at the time, so for all he and I knew he saved me from getting clawed and pecked to death,” Merlin explained.

“Right....” d’Artagnan said but didn't believe. It didn't add up, for Merlin was over 1000 years old, when did he forget he wasn't immortal.

“ How is Aramis anyway? he is always finding trouble. It's ridiculous. I keep an eye on him,” Merlin pointed over to a pool of water being held in a very fancy looking bird bath. " But it doesn't seem to be enough."

“ He’s okay, I guess. Been having nightmares and failing in hiding them.” It was true, Aramis had been having nightmares. They could all see he was missing sleep, but the other two were content to ignore the dark smudges under Aramis’s eyes and the way he napped at his desk instead of eating lunch.

Merlin sighed across from him like he knew exactly what d’Artagnan was talking about. The warlock stirred his tea absentmindedly. “ Aramis knows the depths of cold like no other, and they with haunt him when the snow falls. You have to watch out for him d’Artagnan, He’s a self-sacrificing idiot, who docent know what best for him.”

d’Artagnan opened his mouth to ask more when a clanging from above echoed through the space. Merlin jumped up and within a blink of an eye, the old man was back. Grey hair and all. “ Your friends are back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if there are any mistakes.
> 
> and thank you for reading.


	11. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So my computer broke last night, got it fixed this morning and iv never been more relieved in my life.
> 
> Anyway, here's the next chapter.

His family home looked nothing like it had done the few years ago when he had lived in it. The frame was still there, but the walls had been stripped raw and the furniture too stained to see the luscious colours underneath. In places, the plaster was missing and the edges overgrown with moss. The wallpaper hung limply off of their walls like dying flowers. Athos wasn't really looking around the place for signs of magic use like they were meant to be doing. Instead, he was following Porthos through each room, looking at the way such a beautifully lively place had been ravaged till nothing of its former wealth and passiveness remained.

Athos stepped into the parlour room just behind Porthos. The carpet squelched underneath their boots and a swamp smell seeped into the air. It looked as if a river had run through the entire bottom floor. Dead plants and weeds wrapped around the chair legs and gathered at the far wall and continued down the hallway to their left. Mud to black to be just wet dirt blanketed the wooden floods and seeped out of the archways leading into each room. Porthos flicked through the pile of paper on the desk in the far corner and ignored the way Athos just stood there not knowing what to do, so unlike himself.

Porthos had asked for his permission to search the place once they had pride the double doors apart - they had rotted together - Athos had nodded glumly, not having the focus to use words. He knew Porthos was worried and he knew he should do something other than following the bigger man around. But to fully make an action in a place that held too much pain for him, meant accepting that he was standing in his parlour room where he used to kiss his wife and laugh with his brother. 

Athos was having a hard time keeping his empath ability in check, but the distraction was helping him think less about the rooms he was walking through and the things that happened in them. He had linked himself to Porthos once they had exited the car. Not a full link, he hadn't done that in a very long time and wouldn't risk it, - he’d done it with Anne, his mind supplied - but just enough to even out his own emotions. To calm his panic and sedate his fear, at least a little. Porthos was good for that, he always had a hand on the way he felt. His emotions were often stronger and a bit wilder than many others, but Porthos could also calm them and keep a level head when he thought he should and it was that same level-headedness that was keeping him sane.

A gust of wind swept through the house, rattling the foundations and whistling through the cracks. Athos heard mumbles of words in the slight breeze that got to the two agents deep inside the walls. Athos turned and faced down the corridor when he thought the wind had come from. His frown deepened as he stared at the empty hallway that led to the stairs at the end and then to the right. Thomas had ‘fallen’ down the stairs. Smashed his head open on the tiles at the bottom, there had been blood everywhere. Just like the rest of the rooms, the floor was covered in a black watery mud and the walls overgrown with moss and rot. Nothing of its previous life was left.

The next draught of air came from the half smashed window at the end of the corridor and just in the corner of the frame grew one of those offending forget-me-not veins, that had choked and strangled the brick outside. The small blue flower moved only gently in the wind, as gentle as the soft voice it brought to his ears. The words to tangled in the wind that carried them to make any sense. Just beyond the window stood a large dead tree. The tree, an old oak was once full of green leaves, but after what was committed on its branches, Athos could understand why it chose to die. Athos could still hear the swinging of a heavy weight at the bottom of a rope when he tried to close his eyes at night. 

He froze and waited for the next gust, the next haunting words to glide by his ears. Athos stood in the entrance of the hallway and stared at the small blue flower taunting him where it sat so far away. How could something so beautiful and gentle as a blue flower bring such dread and repulsive notions, it made bile rise in the back of Athos throat and his eyes sting with tears.

The next time Athos felt a cool breeze and the forget-me-not flower moved slightly, the words were louder, clearer. Despite not being able to determine individual words, Athos would never forget that voice and the flower across from him assured him of that. 

Athos took a tentative step forward, through the arch leading to the corridor. In a gasp, Athos’s world went painfully white and the world around him shifted. His senses tingled as the corridor was back to its former glory, the walls decorated with intricately designed wallpaper where intact and not festering anymore. The window far ahead of him let rays of light filter through, lighting up the whole place, making it seem like a domestic place. 

Athos watched in horror as the now pristine hallway gave way to the most nightmarish event ever of happened to the man. He heard it first, a few shouts and undefinable words, then the distinctive sound of something hard hitting something with flesh. He couldn't see the commotion just around the corner and up the stairs, but he could hear it. Then the bouncing of a body, falling and hitting ever step on the way down. The dull thudding stopped with a final sickening crack. Athos knew what had made that noise, skull hitting tile.

Without thinking Athos ran to his brother's body, completely forgetting that it wasn't real or that this could be a trap. It didn't matter because his baby brother had just fallen to his death and Athos couldn't help thinking that there might just be a chance that… 

Athos skidded around the bannister and fell to his knees in the pool of red that surrounded Thomas’s body. His baby brothers eyes were still wide open in panic and shock. Athos let out a painful sob and pulled his brother into his lap and rocked him back and forth, covering his hands in blood. The tears he had strand to keep inside since entering the cursed house, fell and streamed down his cheeks. Whatever composure he had held onto left him with such animosity it made his raw emotions bleed and scream. 

Suddenly his brother was ripped away from him and replaced with a panicked looking Porthos, who was holding Athos wrist together to stop him from clawing at the ground where his brother was. Porthos is talking in rushed sentences but Athos isn't listening, he’s searching for Thomas.

 

-

 

Porthos hadn't realised that Athos wasn't following him anymore after a few minutes. The bigger man had entered the large dining room the connected to the parlour room. The place was big enough to feed the entire Garrison. 

Porthos could feel the link Athos had made with him, he didn't mind. It was a slight nudging in the corner of his mind. Just out of reach to really determine if it was part of his imagination or not. But Porthos could recognise it easily, from his own experiences on the matter. He trusted Athos, he would never use his ability for ill intent. He trusted his leader to have control of the situation and if that meant linking to him and following him around like a lost puppy then so be it. It made Porthos extra generative to his own emotions, keeping himself calm as to not panic Athos was harder than he thought, but considering the older man hadn't had a panic attack yet maybe he was not doing so bad. 

So as the bigger man walked through the wrecked dining room, - working his way through the mess of broken chairs and smashed china, - he felt the almost invisible link pull lightly at the back of his mind. Porthos turned around expecting to see Athos looking at some old photo or something, but the older man was nowhere to be seen.

“ Athos?” Porthos voice bounced off of the walls, making the sudden disappearance of his friend more worrying.

Porthos started to make his way back over to the parlour room, he focused on the link and the way it pulled a little bit more.   
He stumbled when he felt the link broke, hitting his knee and shin hard on a broken chair leg. He heard a strangled yell and he was running. or rather limping quite fast. Porthos followed the sobs to a corridor that led to some stairs. There he found his leader sobbing in a heap by the bannister. 

Porthos would usually keep his distance knowing that Athos appreciated his privacy. But when his eye caught the stark red on Athos’s hands and his haggard breathing, he found himself hastily limping to Athos side.

By the time he marched down the hallway Athos was in full throws of his panic attack. Porthos rushed to his side, and having experience with panic attacks living with Aramis, knew what to do. Porthos griped Athos wrist together with one hand to stop him from whipping the bloodied fingers on his clothes and used his other hand to force Athos to stop looking at them. On Athos face, Porthos could see where the blood had come from. He nose and most of his mouth were covered in blood and Porthos had never been more relieved about a nose bleed. 

“ Athos,” He said calmly, “ Look at me come on.”

Athos screwed his eyes shut, “ Get it off,” he choked out while trying desperately to get his hands back, “ Get his blood off me.” 

“ Athos, it’s not his blood, okay. It yours, you have a nose bleed,” Porthos hoped his voice held a surety that Athos believed. 

But Athos didn't seem to be listening or just not believing him, instead, the older man continued to shake his head and mumble about getting whoever he is blood off him. When Athos started gasping for breath and his hands trembled, even more, Porthos pushed the older man's head to the side. It hit a little hard on the banter but Porthos just hoped it added to his attempts of snapping him out of it. Now Athos couldn't see the blood. Porthos manhandled the shaking, weeping man till he had cleaned as much of the blood as he could off with his shirt, till Athos’s hands and face only held a slight tinge of red. 

Porthos let go of his hold “ See, all gone. Please, Athos just look, all gone.” Athos opened his eyes with trepidation and looked at his now relatively clean hands.

“ Porthos?” Athos’s voice was small and raw. Porthos didn't think he had ever heard it like that before.

Porthos side in relief of recognition. “ Yer, it's me. What just happened ?” 

“ I.. I don’t know, I was suddenly back there and she killed him, she killed Thomas,” Athos spoke with wide, unblinking eyes staring somewhere behind Porthos.

“ Okay, okay,” Porthos pulled the older man into a hug, Athos being Athos didn't really know what to do and was probably still a bit shocked to hug back, but he appreciated it all the same.

Athos looked around like he had now idea where he was, his eyes lingered at the base of the stairs a little longer before he spoke. “ Can we get out of here now? please.”

Porthos helped Athos to his feet and was slightly surprised when the older man clung onto his arm for guidance. They sort of waddled out of the decaying house. Porthos positioned a shocked Athos into the passenger seat of his car and got into the driving seat himself. God, he was glad to leave that place.

The fact Athos didn't argue with Porthos driving, spoke volumes of how much the damned house had affected him. They had a two and a half hour drive ahead of them and the silence would even more tense than the drive here. Porthos honestly didn't really know what to do, Athos was not one to speak what was on his mind and Porthos wasn't that great at knowing when to back down and he really didn't want to make the situation worse. His solution, -which was his solution to most problems involving Athos - take him to Aramis.

With a quick text to the Spaniard simply telling him to go to Athos’s apartment, he started the engine and began the way home.

 

-

 

By the time Porthos had dropped off Athos at his apartment with a very worried Aramis and explained what happened as briefly as possible he found himself eating under an overpass for Merlin to open his god damned door again. 

Night had started to fall and Porthos couldn't help think about how much this day had started out differently. This morning he had work to his two best friends cooking breakfast waiting for their fourth to come round. Now he stood on a Warlock's doorstep while one friend was avoiding his issues and the other having probably the second worked day in his life, right after the murder of his brother and suicide of his wife. 

When Porthos had first met Athos nine years ago, the man had been a drunk, a functioning drunk but a drunk all the same. Athos had gotten him his job at the SIU and they had been partners till Aramis joined them a year and a half later. Porthos was good at figuring people out quickly and he felt that he knew Athos, he had watched the man over nine years full of self-hatred and doubt in his own ability and part of Porthos felt privileged to be witness to this, the other half desperately wanted to wrap the older man in a blanket and tuck him sadly in-between him and a crazy sniper.

But for all his efforts Porthos knew Athos would never succumb to his methods of comfort. Their leader needs space and understanding even if the others thought it was wrong, he needed his drink and need someone there when he inevitably crashed. Porthos couldn't do that, Porthos couldn't watch his friend tear himself apart. 

That's where Aramis came in, the younger man had a way of just knowing what to do. Knew when to back down of confront someone. Even without some ability to know what someone was thinking of feeling, the man could just tell like he had been through the exact same thing and knew how it felt. Porthos often wondered what their Spaniard's life had been like before they had met.

The metal door creaked open and there in the entrance stood their youngest and Merlin just behind them. 

“ Where’s Athos?” was the first thing d’Artagnan said.

“ With Aramis. Merlin, there’s someone dark in that house. But we had to cut the trip short.” A pause, “ Something came up.come on, d’Artagnan we have to head back.” Porthos turned to leave.

“ Wait,” Merlin growled out, “ Tell me more.”

Porthos really looked like he wanted to leave but turned back around. “ There was no sign of magic, but Athos triggered something in one of the corridors. The whole place held a dark Aura and that all I can tell you, Merlin. I'm sorry, but we really have to go.” Porthos turned and started liking back to the car.

d’Artagnan quickly thanked Merlin for the tea and answering his questions even if he had more now then when he got there, he planned to ask Aramis Merlin simply reminded him of what he said about keeping an eye on the Spaniard, they said their goodbyes. He had to run to catch up to the hobbling Porthos. “ What did you do to your leg?” he asked as the both got into Athos’s car.  
“ A chair.” Was all he said before he started the engine and began the way back to Athos’s apartment.

When they finally arrived at Athos home Porthos couldn't be more relieved. Aramis was sitting on the couch watching the fire when they entered. He startled a little, clearly lost in thought. Aramis filled them in on Athos, who was sleeping in his bed and that he was thankful okay and really didn't want to talk about what had happened earlier that day ever again, Athos had made it very clear by trying to put the Spaniard when he had pushed a little too hard. 

Both Aramis and d’Artagnan still had no idea what had happened themselves and with Athos not wanting to talk about it, he doubted the man ever would, Porthos explained about the evil house and Athos morbid connection to it, he avoided the part he wasn't meant to know that Athos had let slip. But it didn't really sit well with the big man, leaving out information. They needed to know as much as they could about the threat and Porthos was painful worried he knew the necromancers target but was confused as to why she hadn't attacked yet, maybe he was being paranoid. During his reenactment of the event, Aramis spent his time patching up his leg, when was a nice away of blues and purples with a few splinter as well. Once the story was told they sat in silence mulling over what to do next.

They eventually agreed to let their leader have his space and watch from a distance for any threat. But still, as they bunkered down for the night on Athos living room floor, none of then quite ready to let their leader stew in his guilt and past memories, they slept. Well, two slept while Aramis watched the fire till the early morning rays peeked through the windows. Aramis couldn't help thinking about the last time he spent a night at Athos apartment, the night after d’Artagnan woke up, The night after he had murdered someone, the night after he had let Athos feel the guilt he should have been feeling. Aramis wouldn't dare close his eyes and let his thoughts be fuel for his nightmares. So he sat and watched the fire. He didn't get a blanket when the temperatures started to drop or a pillow to cushion the hard wooden floor, instead, he sat on a cold, hard floor. He knew it didn't suffice, but it was sort of a punishment and motivation to stay awake. What else was he meant to do as he waited for morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Let me know about mistakes, please.
> 
> Next chapter tomorrow because it's already written. Yay.


	12. Sleep Like the Dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapters pretty long. I don't really know why but it is.
> 
> Does anyone get annoyed that there isn't a set day for updates and stuff ???

It had started to snow a few days ago. Thick white clouds consumed the sky and cold seeped into every crevice there was on earth. Everyone had been strained with each other over the past week. All impossibly quiet for how close they were all keeping each other. After the little reveal of Athos dead wife could possibly be the one gathering soul, no-one had spoken off it. Instead of choosing to watch and wait, after all, that had no leads and not a lot off information. Porthos knew more, that was obvious, but he had chosen not to share and Aramis would respect his decision and trust him to tell them if they needed to know. 

Aramis guiltily felt relieved that it was some creepy dead wife rather than an evil necromancer from his past. Still, not everyone felt the same relief, Athos had turned up for work two days ago drunk and he and Porthos had spent the whole day trying to keep the knowledge away from Treville. Aramis had opted to spend his nights on Athos couch to stop any excessive drinking. It had sort of worked, but Athos had yelled at him twice now, saying things he didn't mean just to get him to go away. As much as Aramis loved his brothers he needed a break, he needs a release. And he had found it, in this case, it seemed Athos had also benefited from the distraction as well. It kept him sober and let other things such as how he had taken his anger out on the Spaniard come to the front of his mind. Athos had apologised that morning just after the case brief. That's where they had left it and hopefully the rest of the case would be as distracting and steer their leader out of his wallowing self-pity and maybe starting thinking of something they could do. Even if they had no leads and no evidence and just nothing that could even point them in the right direction. But right now they had a case to work, and Aramis had his thoughts on other things like his rifle and the criminals below him.

Aramis truly love his French M21 Sniper rifle. He loved the slick metal, the swift ease of the inner mechanics, how intentional every movement was and even the sharp recall as it embedded into his shoulder in such a family homely kick. He tried not to think of what its purpose was, he tried not to think of the corpses it had made. He tried to think of the people it saved instead. The cold calculated piece of machinery had saved his brothers lives more then he dared to count and that's what mattered more to him.

It had saved more lives since he had left the army. It spent most its time being carried around in its black case now, to the garrison, home, to a case, home again. It rarely left its soft foam. But still, now, after eight years of civilian life, he couldn't help enjoy the way it barked and a villain would fall, often in a spray of blood. 

The spike of adrenaline as the man, who had held d’Artagnan with a knife to his throat, fell silent was something he hated to relish in. They didn't need a silencer, the rifle’s shout scared the remaining criminals below. Every part of it had a purpose and he loved it for it.

He blamed it on having a solder's life. He had fought through the ages with swords then muskets and now his rifle. Out of all three of the familiar weapons, he favours his rifle by far. He liked the way it took care of things quickly, no suffering unless they needed a suspect alive. He liked its quick efficiency and how it consumed him when he held it. Nothing else mattered in that moment, just aim and shoot. It made the quick action take minutes. So calculated and efficient and he enjoyed it.

He often wondered if Porthos ever saw his darker nature when his control slipped. What did it look like?, Did it look as dark as it felt? Aramis knew he was wrong to like it. But it was such a part of him, of every one of his lives. He knew he was a bit fucked up, he had enough traumatic experiences in his life to be. He just hoped the others didn't see it. How he enjoyed the killing and the rush of battle. 

The criminal fell backwards, releasing d’Artagnan from his hold as he went. d’Artagnan now free kicked the offending blade away from the body before slumping to the ground and pushing his hand to his bleeding scalp underneath his hair. He had been hit pretty hard, probably a concussion. Athos stood steady, pistol still aimed at the sole remaining criminal. Porthos made his way over to d’Artagnan. Aramis watched this all through his cross-hairs, in the rafters of the warehouse. Still on guard.

“ Drop the gun and surrender.” Athos voice echoed through the metal framed space. Thick with authority. No hint of how the man had cried himself asleep last night.

The lonely masked man shifted. Scared, yes. But he looked stupid enough to try something. They had been investigating the selling of voodoo dolls that actually worked, next thing they know they've busted open a huge illegal smuggling business and the man dead by d’Artagnan was the ring leader.

The only man left standing shifted slightly, Aramis saw the movements before they were in full motion. The man as predicted turned tail and ran. Aramis had his finger on the trigger ready for it and as time slowed he made the decision to wait till the criminal was a foot away from the door.  
A shift in movement to where d’Artagnan and Porthos were all he needed to make that decision. He watched, sights still trained on the masked man's back, as a blur past across them. Porthos slammed into the side of the man, making him crumbled under the much larger man's build and weight. 

With the last bad guy now in cuffs and the post-bust blur of activity set in. Local police came in to take the last man away, forensics to clean up the mess Aramis had made and paramedics swarmed d’Artagnan despite his insistence that he was fine. Aramis stayed on his perch, muscles still tight, ready just in case. The safety had been switch on the moment civilians enter the warhorse, but his thumb hovered over it just in case. He knew that it was over, but he had been in enough battles and wars to know nowhere is really safe. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he waited like he always did for Porthos’s okay. Porthos had been in Iraq with him, he got a taste of battle, of being on edge at every turn. Porthos understood why he still had his rifle out, why he still watched. So he waited.

After Porthos had made sure d’Artagnan’s head wasn't going to fall off and he really only had a small concussion, he turned his attention to the dark rafters and his friend that seemed to blend in with the shadows they had used to hide his presence earlier on, much too seamlessly. He knew Aramis was watching him through his sights, he trusted the odd man with his life but he didn't like they way it reminded him that Aramis needed his reassurance to vanquish his violence. He gave a thumbs up to the shadows across the warehouse and went back to making sure d’Artagnan sat still while a paramedic poked at his head.

Aramis felt his muscles smooth out at the signal. With quick efficiency, he disassembled his metal killing machine and packed it safely away, back in its foam and black case till it needed to be used again. 

With the case over and the post-bust noises muffled into a reassurance and a sense of safety sank in, he suddenly felt overwhelming tired. His sleepless nights were starting to catch up to him. He flipped onto his back and stared at the metal roofing and rusted bolts about 2 meters above him. His eyes adjusted to the low light he had used as cover. He let his mind wonder, soothed by the noises below him. In the first time since seeing Marsac a week and a half ago, he felt himself relax and his mind fogged by exhaustion cleared of anything relevant. Letting himself temporarily forget about the snow outside and how the sharp cold cut through him. He didn't sleep, wouldn't dare to let the nightmare have another go at him, but he did let himself just relax, just for a bit. 

-

Most of the cleanup crew had left, only a few police cars and two forensic still shuffled around the place. Aramis still hadn't come down. It had been two hours and it was late, they were getting ready to go home themselves. d’Artagnan was fine, just a headache but Athos planned to drive him home anyway.

“ He still up there?” Athos walked over to him and followed his gaze to the darkness at the other side of the warehouse. 

Porthos just nodded and frowned. He got the message and moved to cross the large open space to climb the ladder that hid in the corner. As he poked his head over the edge on the little ledge that Aramis had used to cover them, he was glad to see Aramis lying on his back not really doing anything. Porthos had half expected to find Aramis half out of his head in some sort of flashback that he didn't understand. It wouldn't be the first time he had found his friend like that.

Aramis looked over to him, eyes half-lidded and innocent, but they couldn't take Porthos’s attention off of the dark bags under his eyes. Porthos hated the way after using his rifle Aramis was calmer. His frayed nerves soothed and that manic glint in his eyes dulled a little.

“ What you doing up here ?” Aramis questioned.

“ Came to make sure you're still in that head of yours,” Porthos held his arm out to help him up.

Aramis gave him a small smile then yawned and starched his arms a little dramatically. “ Take me home Porthos,” Aramis said as the bigger man pulled him to his feet. 

Aramis leant on to the older man sleepily and pulled his curls out of the messy bun he had put it in to stop it from getting in the way. He bent, picked up the rifle case and together they made their way down the ladder. Porthos hoped that the night's events would be enough to send Aramis to sleep. No matter how it unnerved him the way Aramis reacted to death and the death he caused, he would accept it, if it meant Aramis would sleep soundly tonight. And from they way the younger man couldn't keep his eyes open in the car on the way home, he would sleep tonight.

-  
———————  
Three days later.  
———————

Aramis didn't know where he was at first or how he got here. It was night and dark, but the full moon, that looked too big to be natural, illuminated the white power he stood on. Light reflected off of the snow, creating odd shadows with the surrounding trees. The silence was daunting, a forest such as this was never this quite. Even in the middle of winter, there was at least signs of life. Only did a threatening silence in a place like this mean one thing, Ambush.

As if in sink with his thoughts, Aramis heard a scream in the distance, long and painful, it echoed through the darkness. It was deep, a man's voice, someone big. He turned fast to face the direction it had come from. Aramis gulped down the fear that was slowly rising in his throat and took a tentative step forward. Silence again, it was suffocating. The anticipation making his skin crawl. He took another step, as his foot touched the snow, another scream pierced the dense silence.The scream was longer this time, ear piercing, but it was different to the first one, younger, closer this time too, much closer.

Aramis froze. He felt the fear beginning to rise in his chest. He didn't know where he was, but more importantly, he didn't know where his brother where. He forced himself to slow his breathing, he hadn't realised how fast and haggard it had become. He was panicking. He hadn't felt this afraid in a very long time.

He bit his lip to stop a whimper escaping, He felt tears run down his cheeks. He felt like a child afraid of the dark, an irrational fear. He didn't know what was going on, so far no danger to him. But this fear just kept growing. He took another step forward, he expected another scream but none came, just the oppressing silence continued. Breath Aramis, just breath. He tried to get ahold of his fear, he couldn't hear properly over his own inhale and exhale.

He began running, he couldn't remember why or when he had started, but he was running now, Away from something? Towards something? He didn't know, but he felt rushed like he was running out of time. He had to hurry up. What if it was too late?

The forest all looked the same in the dark The feeling of being watched on the back of his neck, making his hair stand on edge. He looked over his shoulder expecting to see a figure in the distance. There was nothing, no figure half hidden by the trees, but Aramis also noted no footprints either. he slowed to a stop, still looking behind him. The snow he had just run though, was untainted by his mad dash through the trees, it looked like fresh snow from a recent fall. Had he moved at all? Yes, he was running he was sure of it, but the trees all looked the same, he didn't understand. Was he lost? he hadn't known where he was, to begin with so he must be lost. He could see an escape, the forest had trapped him.

Shocked and confused by the impossible, he swayed slightly and took a step back to steady himself. His foot made a squelching sound when it stepped back. He paused, somehow he knew what his foot had stepped in, he couldn't breathe.

He hesitantly looked down, and for some reason knowing what his foot was in, was very different to seeing it. The snow beneath his bare foot was red. Blood had splashed up his leg. The puddle of blood made the snow runnier and squelch under his toes. He gulped and sucked in a breath. It was warm. His toes curled unconsciously, making a wet noise that stole his breath again.

He didn't know how long he stood there, looking at the way his toes blended with the inky red pool, or how the paleness of his skin was such a contrast to the red but it seemed to blend with the snow, or the splash pattern that run up his leg and wrapped around his heel and the top of his foot. 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up again, he felt a breath on the back of his neck. The urge to turn and face his ghostly company was rivalled by his fear that rooted him to the spot. The choice was made for him when whatever it was screamed, right next to his ear. Screeching and inhuman. On reflex, he spun around to face his foe. Only to find nothing but more trees and snow, the scream still echoed and seemed to hang in the air surrounding him. He swept the trees, trying to find any hint of whoever had been behind him, he scanned quickly before turning and scanning again, not willing to leave is back turned for more than a few seconds.

The silence was the worst, it stuck to his skin like poison, it tormented with him. It seeped into his blood and paralysed his brain, his pupils became dilated and there was a tremor in his hands. He struggled to control his breathing. The fear consumed him and the dread for what was to come next was like a firm grip, wrapping it slender finger around his throat and squeezing. The silence seemed to control the situation that was his only reality at this point nothing else mattered. The fact he had no control over what happened next made the tremors increase and his breath small and get caught on the lump in his throat. He didn't know what would happen next, he was at the mercy of the silence surrounding him, and he could tell by the way it hung heavy in the air that the silence was not merciful. He just wanted to go home.

As he scanned the tree-line for what had to be the tenth time, he spotted an orange flickering glow in the distance. A warmth in the cold. Hope blossomed in his chest, cutting his breath short faster then the fear had done. The prospect of not being alone to face the darkness, or the snow, or the silence, Made Aramis so afraid of losing that chance, he took off in a sprint in the direction of the promising glow. 

He quickly tired, but continued none the less, he began to stagger and trip on the snow, leaving a trail of bloodied footsteps. He could feel the dark cold trying desperately to claim him once more, he wouldn't let it. 

As the warm glow grew closer, the hope that had started to form in Aramis’s chest grew as well. A sort of desperation was wrapping around his heart. It became a NEED, a life or death need. Survival depended on reaching the warmth.

As he ran towards it, the shadows of flickering flames spread across the trees. It was a campfire, which meant people, It would be his salvation. Somehow he knew that his friends were there, it was their fire. He could see them sitting there now talking and laughing in his mind. He felt a smile spread across his face, he had found them. Aramis continued to run, now with a new determination in each step.

Aramis froze on the edge of the clearing, whatever chasing him forgotten. There, just like he predicted was a campfire in the middle of the clearing and surrounding it, was his friends, they laid on the snow, each with their own personal pool of blood encircling them. The screams for before, it made sense.

Aramis mind swam and ears rang, his vision tilting, he fell forward onto all fours. His throat was burning, he felt snow beneath his fingers, the coldness of his surroundings washing over him in one fail sweep, consuming him. 

Slowly his ears began to come back to life, and he knew why his throat burned and his lungs ached; he was screaming.

-

Porthos woke to screams. His years of living on the streets in his youth, had him alert in seconds. It took a moment of silence quickly followed by anther pained scream, for Porthos to confirm it was real and not in his own dream. He knew instantly what or rather who it was. He launched himself out of bed, not taking the time to find a shirt and proceeded to run down the corridor to Aramis’s bedroom.

He had been expecting the evening to go this way when he had gone to his own bed less than 3 hours ago. Aramis had had nightmares all week, and thus skipped sleeping for at least a night to avoid the horrors his own mind concocted against him. Aramis hadn't slept for the last two nights and Athos had threatened him with paid-time-off if he didn't look more alert the next day. Aramis had procrastinated going to sleep by watching star wars with Porthos, till the big man had retreated to his own bed, leaving Aramis on the couch with a not very subtle comment on Athos’s earlier threat. Aramis scuttled off to his room ruffly an hour later. 

Despite their annual occurrence and his inability to hide them since he shared and apartment with Porthos, Aramis refused to talk about his nightmares. Often saying he didn't remember what the nightmare was about, though it was plain as day that during winter they were always on his mind. This winter had been no different to the years before, worse even. They had all felt stressed about Athos and his meant-to-be-dead wife, the Porthos still thought dead and was juts hoping that someone was using his old house as a base, someone none of then knew. On the same night as the first snowfall, Aramis woke screaming only a few hours after falling asleep. This would continue till Spring came around. 

Upon reaching Aramis’s room, Porthos rushed through the door. He was unsurprised by the sight of his best friend twisted in his bed sheets, tossing back and forth just before another scream was let loose, His personal terror consuming him.

Porthos jumped onto the bed next to the Spaniard. He pinned Aramis’s falling arm to his chest and shook him hard. Aramis skin was as cold as stone in winter, under his hands.

“ Aramis wake up,” Porthos yelled. Aramis now came to his senses just enough to realise someone was holding him down, he started to struggle. Aramis twisted under Porthos’s hold and continued to scream.

Porthos shook him harder. Aramis’s eyes opened wide and fast, a scream stifled on his lips as he bedroom ceiling came into view. 

Porthos knew what was coming next. Aramis began to grasp for breath, unable to get air past whatever horror he had just witnessed. Porthos scooped him up and pressed Aramis’s chest to his own. 

“ Shhh, just breath, Aramis, Just breath. Shhh. It was just a nightmare, all gone now.” Aramis’s entire body tense. He shook in Porthos’s embrace. The tremors ran down his spin into his fingers and toes. Aramis’s right hand had a white knuckle grip Porthos’s arm.

His comforting words flowed out easily. He continued to shush and comfort Aramis while his gasping turned into sobs. Porthos could feel wetness on his collar bone where Aramis had pressed his face into.

Porthos one handily untangled Aramis’s legs from the sheets. The distraught man seemed oblivious to the actions. His other arm keeping Aramis close. The sobs had turned to shaky breaths but the tears still ran down his cheeks. After a bit of manhandling. Porthos sat against the headboard with Aramis tucked close to his side. His comforting words never slowing or hindering, during the whole process. He stroked his fingers through Aramis’s hair. 

The shaking took longer to slow then his breathing had, but it eventually subsided. Aramis didn't speak, still, shell-shocked by whatever he had dreamed. Porthos knew that by tomorrow Aramis would be filled will apologies and embarrassment. But now, right in this moment, Aramis need a living body beside him and there was no way Porthos wouldn't fill that need. 

Eventually, Porthos slept, he knew Aramis wouldn't. 

-

——————  
Five days later  
——————

They hadn't had a case in a week, and d’Artagnan thought it had something to do with the others odd behaviour. Aramis had been oddly silent for about four days and had progressively gotten worse, he looked pale and had dark smudges under his eyes. He was usually the one out of the other three to find some way out of doing paperwork, or often put it on other peoples desks. Aramis bored fast, this had resulted in paper toss competitions, pranks and him dragging d’Artagnan into experimental spells and charms in the witches lab in the basement. He had been purple, attacked by flying fish and been asked a million question while on a truth charm, Aramis now knew ever inch of his sex life, and his secret obsession with star wars, which he had actually congratulated him on. He still had to get him back for that.

But this, him doing paperwork and avoiding conversation was more than a little odd, something was wrong. Accompanied by Athos and Porthos never taking their eyes off him for a second, meant that something was wrong, and d’Artagnan had been excluded. Athos had been consumed with Aramis over the last few days. If he had a spare moment his eyes were on the younger man. It was a good distraction for him.

He understood that the inseparables had known each other for years and that meant he had some catching up to do. But it still made the sharp pain in his chest of loneliness make an appearance. He could just ask, but he was afraid they would say it was none of his business, that would be worse than just not belonging, for them to actually voice it would be much worse.

He watched Aramis finish his 8th mug of coffee and it wasn't seven 10 am yet. They had been in the Garrison for less than 2 hours and the man didn't seem to be slowing down on his caffeine intake. Athos stood next to a very worried looking Porthos near their office’s large windows. They had been whispering for the last 40 minutes. Aramis who was usually very perceptive of his surroundings was completely oblivious to their not very subtle muttering. That and the sound of Aramis’s keyboard was the only noise in the normally lively office.

“ Anyone want coffee?” Porthos asked loudly, piercing the strained silence.

d’Artagnan shook his head, as he watched Aramis pick his empty mug up and lift it in the air. Porthos made his way to the double doors picking Aramis’s mug out of his raised hand on the way.  
“Come on pup, you're with me.” Porthos didn't even look back.

“ What! why me?”

“ I can't carry three mugs by myself, can I.” d’Artagnan threw his arms up in defeat, stood and followed Porthos out. 

He had to run to catch up to the large man, who didn't seem to be going in the direction of the Garrison kitchen.

“Porthos where are we going and why are you dragging me along?” He said when he had caught up.

“I need to pick something up from the lab and I need you to distract Constance while I do.” Porthos opened the door to the basement and ushered d’Artagnan through. He could feel the blood in his cheeks at just the mention of Constance’s name, Though he hid it quick.

Before he could ask more about the elusive thing Porthos wanted, he was standing in front of the beautiful Constance. She had said something, probably. But he had been distracted.  
“ Sorry, what did you say?” 

She laughed, and his heart swelled. “ I asked why you and the brute have come down to my lovely lab.” 

“Emmm.” He looked to Porthos, who was shaking his head so much d’Artagnan feared it might fall off, he also held a bottle of fine white powder in the hand that didn't still hold Aramis’s mug.

“Porthos was telling me about what you were working on, and I just had to come down and see. I'm pretty sure Porthos only came down to get out of paperwork.” He hoped he was convincing enough. He didn't like lying to Constance, but Porthos had asked him to and he couldn't say no to any of the three. 

Constance’s eye lite up and she smiled. God, he had fallen hard for this woman. She leapt into a speech about the theory of fate and how it impacted the soul energy of individuals. D’Artagnan had no clue what she was talking about and by the time Porthos was by his side after doing whatever he had to do, she was talking about water sprouts. He had no idea how they connected and just prayed she didn't ask him something. 

“We should really be heading back Constance before Athos notices we’re missing,” Porthos interjected what she paused in the speech. 

“ Oh yes yes, wouldn't want to get on his bad side, he has been unusually grumpy lately.”

“ He’s always grumpy Constance, Bye”

“By Constance.” d’Artagnan waved as he made his way to the door that leads to the stairs.

“ Bye d’Artagnan. I'll see you later unless you staying at Aramis’s and Porthos again,” She waved back. d’Artagnan noticed the pinkness of her cheeks and couldn't help but smile.

“ I'll try make it home, I miss your cooking,” He hoped he didn't sound too full on. He was meant to bellowing for his own appearance but couldn't make himself leave the small room he rented at Constance’s house.

They next went to their legitimate destination of the kitchen.  
“ Sooo” d’Artagnan sing singed. “ what's the powder for?” 

Porthos gave him a look that made d’Artagnan regret asking. It was along the lines of an expression mixed between not realising d’Artagnan had seen him actually take it and not sure if he should know about it.

“I think in this case plausible deniability is best for you pup.” Porthos clapped a hand on the back of his shoulder before turning to the coffee machine.

d’Artagnan huffed out a sigh. “Okay then.” a pause “ Why don't you think Treville hasn't given us any cases for the last week. We usually would have them done by now if he did.” He tried to change the subject.

Porthos gave him the same look as before. Then seemed to realise what he had done and slouched, defeated. “ Well…. Aramis is missing sleep and he doesn't function very well. So Treville thinks its best to wait till he is functioning like normal again to trust us with a case. And anyway we have a lot of paperwork to catch up on.”

Porthos was shifting uncomfortably, d’Artagnan knew he was missing something. Before D’Artagnan could ask more Porthos said. “ But don't mention this to Aramis. He doesn't know Treville isn't giving use cases at the moment, and he hates talking about it so, yer, don't mention it.”

D’Artagnan’s curiosity was getting the better of him and he knew it, but he just couldn't help himself. “ Why isn't he sleeping? Is it because of the nightmares? ”

“Yes. And before you ask nor I or Athos actually know what they're about, he won’t talk about them.” Porthos sighed, It was obviously getting to him. d’Artagnan could understand, Aramis was Porthos’s best friend, and the way they acted d’Artagnan may have thought they were a couple for the first few weeks.

“When I was talking with Merlin, he said something about watching out for him. He said he will know the depths of cold like no other, and that they with haunting him when the snow falls.” He recited from memory. Porthos just looked distant like he was thinking.

He knew he was jumping the gun a little but he asked, “ Aramis’s link, is...is it a curse of some kind?”

Porthos scoffed a little and shrugged, not in a condescending way or at least if it was it wasn't directed at d’Artagnan, more at Aramis. “ I really don't know pup. But Athos and I think it's something along those lines. If it is it's not a simple one, if it was he could have got it removed or blocked. It makes me worry that he doesn't share whatever it is.” 

Porthos turned back to the coffee machine and busied himself with sugars and chocolate powder. The conversation was over.

Porthos handed d’Artagnan two coffee’s and picked up the last one himself. They made their way back to the inseparable’s office.

-

Aramis grew worse throughout the day. The amount of paperwork he was producing slowly dwindled, till Athos was forced to watch the younger man just simply stare at his computer monitor. Aramis seemed to be completely oblivious to his surroundings, as well as all three of the other men concerned stares to the point that it was beyond disconcerting. Aramis’s usual perception of what was going on around him seemed to have been completely occupied by whatever was going on it that head of his.

Athos had seen symptoms like this before when he was working on a case early on in his career before he had met Aramis or Porthos. The cases were about a demon feeding of the mental stability of some army vets in a veteran hospital. The demon managed to stay hidden because of the majority of the patients had bad PTSD, thus their declining mental state didn't through up any supernatural red flags. That is till one of the nurses began to deteriorate. 

But the twitching, flinching, staring off into space, the insomnia and the general feeling of misery of the patients had stuck with him. That was what he was witnessing now, just in Aramis and it scared him. Porthos had been keeping track of his aura over the last few days since Aramis had stopped sleeping. Porthos had said that Aramis’s aura had taken a dark grey colour, meaning fear is accumulating in the body, Athos had no doubt it was a fear to sleep and relive whatever horrors he had endured. This was why Athos hated their contingency plan.

Aramis had been in the army, he had been a sniper and apparently a very efficient one at that. So the possibility of Aramis having PTSD from his time in the army was a possibility. Aramis stubbornness wouldn't let him mention he had a problem till it was so obvious that trying to deny it was have been almost comical. 

Athos had discussed his theory with Porthos a few years back, he had agreed. They both decided it was best to leave the matter alone till it became a big issue. Till then they would let Aramis ignore it and be there when he needs them to be. Porthos had said that the nightmares had been getting worse. Athos was still recovering from his own since his little trip home and Aramis had helped him ever step of the way, even when he yelled at the younger man and tried to punch him. Still, Aramis hadn't slept once when he had stayed over last week. Athos would agree they were getting worse.

The other two looked just as concerned. Porthos was always worrying about his flat-mate, but this time - with Athos’s approval- he was going to do something about Aramis’s reluctance or rather fear to sleep. Aramis looked like death warmed over, and Porthos had been giving him an update of Aramis for the last two weeks. Aramis had slept 5 out of 14 days and the nights he did sleep where torture due to his nightmares.

Aramis missed at least every second night, but hadn't slept in four nights after a particularly bad panic attack after waking, Porthos had damn near called an ambulance when Aramis couldn't seem to get his breathing under control. Aramis had passed out in the end.  
Athos had received a frantic call from Porthos only moments before Aramis had lost consciousness. Athos and Porthos had stayed with Aramis till - only 30 minutes later - he woke, very silent and very humiliated, it was that last ‘sleep’ he had gotten. As well he now refused to eat, simply stating he wasn't hungry. He drank coffee and that was about all. 

But Aramis wouldn't take too kindly to them probing at his personal issues. Aramis was very respectful of sensitive issue with them, and neither one of them wanted to get on Aramis’s bad side if they said something wrong. Anyway it hadn't been a problem till now, it had never gotten this bad.

Aramis now sat at his desk with dark rings under each eye, the paleness of his skin making him look sickly. Porthos had every right to be worried as did Athos. Aramis’s coffee fuelled awareness nor his own health would last much longer, soon Aramis would get sick. But then again he had the devil's luck and the stubbornness to go with it, he might last a few more days yet.

d’Artagnan despite not knowing Aramis very well, had concern written on his face, it was quite touching to know the young lad cared so much. Athos knew he had been distant since Merlin's little field trip. Athos’s own sleep had been restless, it was assaulted with images of his murdered brother. He may have lost a brother in blood but he had gain three in spirit, and he was afraid of loosing the newest addition to their fold. Athos knew it was wrong to replace Thomas with d’Artagnan, but it seemed to have happened without his knowledge. And now he was avoiding the youth because he was terrified to feel again, to have something that could so easily be taken from him, again. It wasn't fair to d’Artagnan. 

Athos looked back to his computer screen, it was 5 past 6 pm, where had the time gone? Porthos began to stand and put his coat on, he caught Athos’s eye, then nodded towards Aramis. Aramis still sat looking at his monitor, unaware to the moon that had risen outside and that darkness that had fallen. Athos gave Porthos a look, I’ll get him, it said. Porthos nodded back in agreement. 

Athos stood put his own coat on and made his way over to the silent Spaniard. He knelt down next to his chair and from experience tried to get his attention before touching him.

“ ‘mis?” He said softly. Aramis didn't respond. He continued to stare slightly downwards, eyes unblinking and half lidded. 

“ Aramis?” Athos called again. This time gently placing his hand on Aramis’s wrist. It took a few seconds for Aramis to register the gesture, but when he did he turned his head to Athos and flinched back, pulling his arm to his chest. Aramis’s eyes were wide, his lips lightly parted, and Athos could see he hands were shaking.

“ Time to go home, ‘mis.”

After a few second Aramis blinked and sucked in a breath, much to Athos’s relief. “ Wha..?” He breathed out. Aramis still seemed to not quite be in the present.

“ Home,” Was all Athos answered with. He leant over Aramis’s lap and switch off his monitor. Then turned Aramis’s rotatable chair to face him. The sleep deprived man still seemed to be in a daze. 

“ R..Right, yes home.” Aramis sounded surer this time, he slowly came back to his sense. He leant forward and rubbed his face with his hands, then combed them through his hair and pulled at the ends.

Porthos walked over with both Aramis’s coat and jumper to add to the one he already had on. Athos help him to his feet. He swayed slightly when he stood. They help Aramis into his warmer clothes, while d’Artagnan cleaned up the coffee mugs and scant pieces of paper that littered Aramis’s desk.

Aramis was worryingly compliant; He allowed all of this to happen without a word of complaint. Once he was dressed to face the winter night outside, they all made there was to their office’s oak double doors.

Aramis swayed with every step and just before Athos was going to replace his hand back on the man to steady him. Aramis’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and his knees buckled. Thankfully Porthos caught him before his head hit the floor. He had fainted.

Porthos looked up from his position cradling Aramis’s limp form on the carpet to Athos, his concern evident in his eyes. Something needed to be done and soon. Aramis began to wake after only a few seconds, he groaned and tried to open eyes that so desperately wanted to stay shut. Athos wished the stubborn man would just give in and sleep. It was evident that wasn't going to happen. He and Porthos had planned for their intervention on the matter, Athos just didn't think it would happen this soon nor was he particularly fond of their plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading  
> :)


	13. Scream Like the Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is lots of slurred speech in this chapter, hopefully, you guys can understand it.
> 
> I don't know much about sleep deprivation, but I read after 80 hours people start to hallucinate. Aramis hasn't slept in like 4-5 days so he should probably be there about now. I sort of read this after I wrote this chapter so let's just say Aramis is experienced at not sleeping and not mentions all the misconceptions

They took Athos’s car back to Porthos and Aramis’s apartment. d’Artagnan had been given the front seat since the first time he took a lift in Roger - Athos’s car, named by the other two - because he didn't mess with the radio or insist that he was the best navigator thus getting them terribly lost. 

Porthos sat in the back with a dozy looking Aramis on his shoulder. He had an arm around his back to keep him close. Aramis wasn't asleep that was evident by his knee doing a jackhammer routine, and when Porthos put a hand on the fidgeting knee to still it, Aramis fingers would begin to twitch and tap. But the man's eyes were closed and half covered by his dark curls. 

d’Artagnan watched Porthos shift the younger man to place his palm against Aramis’s forehead moving a few strands of loose curls. “He’s got a slight fever.”

Athos nodded and Aramis hummed in response to the cool hand on his forehead. 

“ Don't talk about me like I'm not even here.” Aramis groaned. 

“ We wouldn't if we thought you had any cognitive thought.” Athos snarked. d’Artagnan could tell Athos was at least a little pissed off since Aramis fainted. It was probably because the man was too stubborn to just lay down and sleep. Aramis was too tired to respond.  
d’Artagnan didn't get why Aramis was putting himself through this. It seemed like the Spaniard was afraid to shut his eyes. It was getting ridicules.

Once they got to the shared apartment, Porthos man-handled Aramis out of the car and up the stairs, Athos and d’Artagnan followed. 

Once upstairs Aramis peeled off of Porthos and made his way to the bathroom and before long they could hear the shower running. The other collected in the kitchen. Athos guided d’Artagnan to a seat at the countertop, it wasn't his first time here but he rarely went into the kitchen and he couldn't help but look around at his team's private life when it was on display like this. The apartment was filled with trinkets and knickknack from around the world. There were framed photos scatted on walls and shelves. Most were of the inseparables, drinking, in sports clothes and covered in mud, and just lounging around. 

There was one with Constance, Athos and Aramis without a beard. All with grins including Athos and beer bottles in their hands. They looked a lot younger, Aramis due to not having his very praised facial hair and he had curls that went past his shoulders, Constance had dye blond hair that made her look like a teenager again. d’Artagnan smiled at the thought of his team in their mid-twenties coursing mass panic around Paris. 

There was a photo of Porthos and Aramis when they were in the army. Aramis’s rifle over his left shoulder and his hand rested loosely in the strap. His other arm was across Porthos’s back and looped around the much larger man's neck to bring him closer. Porthos’s left hand was buried in the sniper's hair, making the much shorter - but still longer hair then the Corps regulations - messy. Both men had smiles on their faces, Porthos smile was much more genuine then Aramis’s. Both young and unburdened by the supernatural world and the demons that it had obviously brought with it. Aramis’s eyes looked old unlike Porthos’s, they held a sort of damage that d’Artagnan wonder if it was what haunted his dreams.

d’Artagnan noted that neither man's face was scared like they both were now. Porthos’s pirate like scare didn't slash across his eye, and Aramis forehead and cheek were unblemished. More questions fed d’Artagnan’s curiosity. 

He turned his attention on the two in front of him, they were having a silent conversation with their eyes. Athos passed Porthos a mug with what looked like some sort of herbal tea. Porthos took out the white powder he had ‘liberated’ from Constance earlier.

“ What is that stuff.” d’Artagnan wanted answers.

“It's a sedative.” Was apparently enough and Athos didn't seem inclined to elaborate. Porthos spooned the powder into the mug and stirred it in.

“ It’s for Aramis, isn't it.” 

Neither man replied, which was answer enough. 

“ There is no way he will drink that.” d’Artagnan exclaimed pointing the chipped mug.

“ He will if he doesn't know it’s in there,” Athos replied.

d’Artagnan didn't know how they were going to pull this off. Porthos already looked guilty enough and he hadn't even done it yet. Just as d’Artagnan was going to voice this, they all froze at the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Aramis wondered out in Superman PJ’s, swaying slightly as he walking straight past them to the couch in the living room. Porthos grabbed the mug and took it over to Aramis, leaving the other two behind.

Porthos had to keep telling himself that what he was doing was for the best. Aramis NEEDED sleep, and he wouldn't get it if he left the Spaniard to his own devices. Aramis would drink the tea, then fall asleep peacefully on the couch. That was what he kept telling himself, that was not what happened. 

Aramis sat curled up on the sofa, looked at the bookcase he had rearranged last night. It was currently in alphabetical order, but the books were all in differing sizes and Porthos just knew what Aramis was planning to spend his night doing.

“ Hey, there mate,” Porthos said as he sat down next to his friend. He placed the mug of steaming, spiked tea on the coffee table in front of them. 

Aramis didn't acknowledge him straight away. It had been common over the last few day, Aramis took a few seconds for the words to register then a few more for him to think up a response that made sense. He sleepily blinked trying to figure out what he was meant to say “ What are they still doing here.” Aramis finally questioned.

Porthos didn't really know what to say to that.

“ Athos and d’Artagnan,” Aramis explained further when his friend remained silent.

Porthos knew who he was talking about, he was just a little bit shocked at why he had said it. Aramis had lost his tact over the last few days, resulting in rather rude comments that he didn't really mean and Porthos was beginning to feel like a buffer to Aramis’s sentences.

“ They're a bit worried that's all mate,” Porthos spoke calmly, trying to sooth Aramis frayed edges. He Picked the mug back up and tried to give it to his friend as he spoke. Aramis didn't take it, he just looked at it with a frown so Porthos moved limp Aramis hands to grip the mug and only when he was sure that the younger man had a proper hold on it did he let go. Aramis was uncomfortably docile, his usual vitality for independence and strength of self, seemed to shrivel up and leave a man Porthos barely recognised. Aramis seemed afraid and vulnerable like this, which was something Porthos could say he had only seen on his friend less than a few times.

Porthos truly hated the way Aramis didn't seem to care about himself, especially with his health. If some evil foe was hurting Aramis, Porthos could fix it. But this, this he had no console over and all his efforts to help came across like he was getting involved in something he wasn't welcome to.

Aramis hummed as his only response. He sipped the tea and Porthos were glad to see a small smile play on the younger man's lips. Aramis’s smiles had been lacking recently and if Porthos knew offering the man a cup of tea would have made him smile, he would have done it ages ago.

Porthos waited for the sedative to kick in, he had put enough in for a few sips and about 5 minutes for it to work. But instead of Aramis lids falling peacefully shut like he desperately wanted, Aramis's frown deeper as he stared accusing daggers into his mug. The younger man screwed his eyes shut and breathed heavily. He shook his head and looked up to Porthos who gave him what he hoped was a comforting smile. Aramis licked his lips and took another sip. His frown deeper further.

“ w’a’s in ‘his,” Aramis slurred and put the mug back on the coffee table. Despite the movement being simple, the tea sloshed over the edge a bit.

“ It's just tea, Aramis,” Porthos prayed that Aramis was too out of it to hear the lie in his voice. It was for his own good, started to sound more and more like a lie as well.

“ No, nonono. Th’re sum’fin in it,” Aramis stood and swayed. His breathing started to pick up.

Porthos stood and placed his hands on the shorter man's shoulder trying to stop him from toppling over. “ Aramis come on, sit down,” 

Aramis shrugged his hands off of him with a little bit more force than necessary for the loose grip Porthos had had. The younger man took a step back and swayed more. 

“ No nono, yo..you pu’ sum’ing in it,” Aramis face looked stricken with the realisation of what Porthos had done. The bigger man felt a pang of guilt as the sheer rawness of Aramis betrayed look and accusation. Aramis started to panic and his breathing was becoming haggard. Porthos took a step forward, arms half way up, palms out, trying to calm Aramis down. It wasn't working.

At Porthos slight but passive movement, Aramis startled and jumped back. His feet too uncoordinated to land properly and he sort of half collapsed. He would have fallen to the ground if Porthos hadn't shot forward and held him upright, close to his chest.

Aramis pushed the much stronger man away, but sleep deprived and now drugged as he was, his efforts were completely useless. He huffed out and whimpered as he tried again, throwing a punch that Porthos dodged easily.

“ Stop it ’thos, I do’t wa’t to,” Aramis barely got out. “ Stop it!” He said next with much more force.

“ Aramis just calm down,” Porthos gritted out as he tried to stop his friend flying limbs from pushing at him. The man seemed to find a surge of energy Porthos hadn't thought possible in his state. Was he that panicked that his body gave him adrenalin?

Porthos, in one quite move, twisted the much smaller and weaker man around so Aramis back was pressed against his chest. Like this, he could restrain his friend much easier. Still, Aramis continued to fight back as much as he could and in his weakening state, that was very little. He hated the way his strength could so easily hold Aramis at bay. Porthos was suddenly shocked at how quickly this had turned around, from two friends drinking tea, to two friends fighting each other. Well if you could call it fighting. 

“ Stop it, Get off me! FUCK off Porthos!” Aramis yelled in between gasped, panicked breaths. Porthos heard the other two enter the living room but didn't look up at them, he had truthfully forgotten they were there. Aramis continued to fight him, but the sluggish punch from earlier was gone and a savage, desperate violence came over him. Aramis clawed at the arms that held him up and kicked out with legs that wouldn't hold him up. “ ‘thos Please,” He breathed out.

“Aramis please, calm down,” Athos said as he marched across the carpet. 

Aramis didn't seem to hear him, instead continued his savage battle that he couldn't win. Porthos managed to twist them both and fall with a surprising amount grace while holding a battling brother. By the time they were both on the couch, Porthos underneath Aramis, still holding him close, the younger man was completely out of breath but still fought with clumsy hands and kicked out with weak legs. 

“ Fuck you Porthos, f’ck y..you” Aramis voice wavered and quickly lost whatever hold he had gained in his anger and the rest of his body was quick to follow. “ I do’t w’nt to, pl..ple’s,” Aramis slurred while shaking his head into Porthos chest and pulling at the arms that held him with shaky, clumsy fingers.

Porthos sent a pleading glance to Athos, desperately asking for his help. Athos knelt down in front of them.

“ Aramis don't fight it, just go to sleep,” Athos ran his fingers through Aramis hair and spoke with a calmness that Porthos couldn't dream of having in this situation. “ Don’t fight it.”

Aramis had lost all fire that had burned so bright only a moment ago, but Porthos still held him close. It wasn't really a hug but he hoped that now that Aramis wasn't fighting or swearing at him, that it held a sort of comfort. Aramis just laid there, mumbling a series of no’s and pleases. He eyelids drooping and then bouncing back open again. It was slow but eventually, Aramis’s eye stayed shut.

None of the three men could break the silence that now settled around them. Porthos watched as Athos gently wiped away the few tears that had fallen from their now sleeping friend's eyes. Porthos shared a look with their leader, both men could tell the other felt responsible for what just happened. It wasn't meant to have gone like that. It was meant to be calm, not some desperate fight for awareness that neither thought that taking away would be such an important thing to Aramis. But their Spaniard had clung on to consciousness with all his strength. The betrayal that had lite up his eyes and anger that Porthos had never seen directed at him. He hadn't expected such raw emotion from him like that, hadn't expected the sharp spike of guilt that felt like it was suffocating him either.

Athos helped lift Aramis up, so Porthos could slide out from underneath the Spaniard without too many struggles', It didn't really matter. Aramis wasn't going to wake up, not for at least 4 hours. But he hadn't drunk much. Maybe even less. Still, they lifted their sleeping friend carefully and after some manoeuvring Porthos carried the younger man to his bed. Tucked him in to keep the cold away and settled down himself. It wasn't late, but they all seemed exhausted or just quiet, lost in their own thoughts. Porthos settled down next to Aramis in his double bed and tried to catch up on his lost sleep. Both Athos and d’Artagnan felt that they imposed at little and it was bit weird to watch two men sleep, so they settled down in the living room. Athos cleaned away the spilt tea and busied himself in the kitchen before sitting next to the youngest of their group. Neither spoke and it felt wrong to put the tv on. So d’Artagnan despite his youth and energy to spare he nestled down for a nap on the surprisingly comfy couch. 

The house was quite for the first two hours before the three gaurding brothers were woken by screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting.
> 
> From now on updates will be on Thursdays. Or rather Thursdays for me, I'm in AUS so I think that's Wednesdays for like everywhere else. 
> 
> Any mistakes and stuff let me know.


	14. Out of The Rabbit Hole

Athos was very familiar with guilt. He had lived a very lavish life in his youth, but still, guilt found its way into his chest and sat there like he was its home. Athos took pride in his ability or rather lack of ability to express what he felt. He had practised his stoic stance over the years and even as a child Athos hadn’t understood how people could put so much emotion on their face and act like it was natural. Athos had learned early on that he was the unnatural one, everything he felt was on the inside and there was so much of it that wasn't his, so he had no right to express it. He had experienced every kind of emotion till he had learned to block the feed back. It was impossible for an empath to stop connecting to people around them, it was the natural state of things. But he had learned to cut off the emotions bouncing back in that connection. He had learnt to dehumanise it. 

But guilt MADE him human. It made HIM feel rather than someone else’s. It was the one emotion he couldn't ignore, that he couldn't hide. It was a doorway into the things he blocked off, it opened up all of the regret and anger that he too often refused to feel. Guilt was too familiar, too close to home.

And Aramis, a man so ruled by his emotions, got under the older man's skin. The way the younger man flirted around with his emotions like he had too many and too much to spare. Aramis’s emotions were wild and unpredictable but overall positive. He was a happy man, giddily so. But there was anger there to, a furious fire that was rarely lite but when it was it was in the name of protection. Protection of him, Porthos and d’Artagnan. He had seen that fire tonight, in foggy eyes and a scream croaked voice. Aramis had been angry, yes, but worse he was shocked at the betrayal that his brothers committed. That anger, Athos would dare say he feared, had been aimed at them.

Now Aramis slept relatively calmly in his bedroom down the hall with Porthos standing guard. Athos couldn't stand there and watch his handy work play out. It wasn't the induced sleep that was the catalyst for his guilt, it was the betrayal in Aramis eyes when he realised what was happening to him, what they did to him, against his will. They had taken away his awareness behind his back and gotten caught red handed. 

He was not like Porthos, he couldn't comfort the younger man with kind words and overbearing hugs and affection. Athos couldn't sit there and watch, he couldn't shower the younger man with kind words and apologies that he didn't deserve forgiveness for. That's why he was sitting in the lounge, staring at the picture-less tv and listening to the struggles down the hall. 

Aramis had started screaming about half an hour ago and they hadn't been able to wake him, too drugged to wake from his terror and again the guilt rose. Porthos had yelled for help and both d’Artagnan and Athos had run to his aid, to find Porthos pinning the younger man down and blocking unaimed blows. It was a joint effort to restrain Aramis and eventually they had gotten the screaming to stop. They detangled the sheets and positioned the Spaniard so he was resting half on Porthos. The large man stroked the tangled, sweaty hair and whispered things too low for Athos to hear. 

They had soothed the nightmares, but the calm didn't last long. Soon after Aramis had calmed, he started muttering and shaking his head. The guilt started to rise again. The muttering started to form words, pained words that were said in a panicked rush. More confusing, the words were a mix of French, Spanish and an odd English. Then the screaming started again and that's how it had gone, like a cycle. Screams, pained muttering and haggard breathing, till Athos, couldn't stand it anymore and retreated to the lounge and found a bottle of rum in the liquor cabinet waiting the night away.

Porthos was managing in chasing away the demons, he didn't need Athos hovering around full of self-pity. But Athos knew that the larger man was tearing himself up over being able to help so little. Of only being able to temporarily stop the screams, they couldn't reach the root of the problem. Aramis wouldn't let them. 

Athos knew why he shouldn't but he couldn't help get a little feedback from the younger man. With Aramis’s wild and impressionable emotions - a man so ruled by them - it was impossible to not get a little feedback and Aramis was afraid, he was terrified of them finding out something and more worrisome, he was terrified of himself. It did something to Athos heart that Aramis didn't trust them to tell them. Afraid of their reaction, afraid of them. Looking back, Aramis was a very private person and had mastered the art of reflecting evasive questions with flirtation and charm. But he didn't have his charisma here, it had gone with his awareness and consciousness. Aramis tact couldn't help him now, not with him on display and so unaware of it. 

It felt wrong to peer into his friend's mind and sift through the secrets and lies that Aramis told himself. Truthfully Athos was afraid of what he would find there. He noticed the little things in Aramis that he tried to hide. The little ticks and the way he smiled when his sniper went off. The way he revelled in the violence that consumed him. Thankfully Aramis was not ruled solely by his emotions, the man had a practised control over the violent storm inside him and it only showed on rare occasions, usually when his brothers were in danger. It was in the name of protection and Athos could live with that. Even if when it happens, the smiling, joking Aramis they knew seemed to disappear.

They did not mention their faults, their wrong doings and their flaws. They all ignored the parts that they wished where secret, to keep up the illusion of ignorance and innocence that they had all lost in their own dark ways. Porthos in his youth, fighting for survival. Athos, himself through the actions that had happened in his name that was his fault. And lastly Aramis, whatever made him twitch when snow fell and scream in his sleep was unknown and that concealment was starting to spread distrust. Could they keep ignoring his secret past when it was starting to affect the present?

Athos’s thoughts were snapped in two by another set of screams, this time they were rougher and broke off halfway through. This wasn't what was meant to happen. They hadn't thought of this scenario when they had thought up their plan. But Athos wouldn't apologise for the enforced sleep, Aramis needed it, he was torturing himself trying to stay awake. But Athos would BEG for Aramis’s forgiveness for the betrayal of his actions and hopefully, Aramis will see his side of the story. They hadn't told the kid for that reason, the guilt and Aramis’s anger was a thing to be feared.

Athos sighed as he stood, staggering slightly. He looked down at the bottle still in his hand, to find it two-thirds empty. Porthos was not gonna be happy. He slowly followed the yells to Aramis’s bedroom, leaving d’Artagnan asleep on the couch. 

Aramis was yet again tangled in the sheets, pale and shaking. It reminded Athos of the time the younger man had had a high fever and became delirious. At least this time he wasn't thrashing around. Porthos was trying to untangle the sheets again, every time the larger man’s fingers brushed against Aramis pale skin, the younger man would flinch away. 

Porthos looked up when he noticed Athos was in the room. He looked at the older man with pleading eyes. Athos put his rum down on the chest of draws behind him and got on with untangling the sheets with care not to touch Aramis. 

“ He’s sweating buckets, but he’s really cold,” Porthos mumbled as they both took a side of the sheet and pulled it up back over Aramis, who was mumbling something and shaking his head. Athos learnt over the bed to place his hand on the younger man's permanent frown. Aramis flinch a little at his touch. 

Aramis was cold and with Athos hand against the younger man's skin, he could see how pale he was as well. “ We should get some more blankets,”

“ He would just kick them off again,” Porthos said as he motioned to the pile of blankets in the corner, already abandoned. 

“ Go get some rest, I’ll keep an eye on him,”  
Porthos looks unsure, but he also looks tired and the stress of minding the Spaniard was probably getting to him.

“Go, I've got this,” Athos reassured.

Porthos gave a reluctant last look at their charge before heading through the door, making the motion of picking up the almost empty rum bottle and taking with him a bit exaggerated. The bottle scraping across the cabinet combined with Porthos stopping out of the room, couldn't block out Aramis’s heavy breathing. A pained whine rang out in the silence.

Athos sat down against the head rest and ran his fingers through the younger man's hair, Aramis calmed almost instantly. The twitching stilled and Athos prayed the calm would last a little longer than the last time. 

It had been three hours, Aramis should wake up soon. Athos dreaded his anger, he doubted that the Spaniard would wake with fluttering eyes and slow movements. As if on cue, Aramis started to mumble again. Hushed words not meant for Athos’s ears. He shouldn't listen, Athos knew that these words where parts of the secrets Aramis so valiantly protects, with a fearlessness similar to when he protected his friends. Was he protecting them now? 

Even if Aramis’s words were incomprehensible, it was obvious how painful this was for him, Athos hoped Aramis wouldn't remember it. Aramis’s head snapped to the left and the muttering became words. Hushed and pained. A literary of nos and pleases rained from Aramis mouth combine with a sharp kick from both legs in an attempt to kick the covers away. 

Athos tried to calm him again, but the nightmare had a firm grip on his mind this time. Aramis sucked in a sharp breath and seemed to choke on it. The mumbling stopped and was replaced with panicked breaths, it sounded like he was having a panic attack. Athos thought he might of actually prefer the mumbling. That way he knew Aramis was fighting whatever he was facing, now he seemed overcome by them. 

Athos didn't really know how to help, but at least Aramis wasn't screaming anymore. It was like he was too shocked to force the terrified noise from his lungs like breathing was more important than screaming and as much as he wanted to him just couldn’t. 

Athos laid down next to the sleeping man. Where their arms touch, Athos could feel how cold Aramis was and hoped that he could give him a little bit of warmth that Aramis had denied the blankets off. Maybe Aramis would accept him. 

Athos slept in the end, close enough to Aramis to know if the unending nightmare made him fight or scream again. There was little they could do about the shock he seemed to be in, stuck in the endless cycle. So Athos slept with Aramis’s horrid symphony of pleads and nos to remind him of his own guilt and his own horrors. Athos knew he would dream tonight, he would experience his own nightmares along side one of his closest friends. Like a punishment, Athos willed himself some rest. 

 

-

 

He came awake with a start, launching himself into a sitting position, choking on a silent scream. Aramis didn't know where he was, confused by the rapid change in scenery and the darkness that wrapped around him. Was he back in the vail? His legs and feet caught in something, icy hands twisting around his ankles. With a few panicked kicks, he still found himself trapped. He willed himself to still and think past the memories controlling his panic. He sat like that for a few moments trying to figure out how to breathe again, trying to ignore the fact he couldn't see anything, till suddenly he was breathing too much. Panic flared and the room seemed too small. Aramis placed his hand against the mattress to steady himself, still unable to slow his haggard breathing. He flinched back when his fingers touched flesh and fell backwards off of the bed. Someone was there, someone living or most likely just died, bloody and messy, because that's what it was always like. Now on the floor, Aramis’s panic flared again. He looked down at his hands that he knew where shaking, expecting blood, but the darkness stopped any inspection. The cold of the forest still stuck to his skin, his stomach churned and he felt bile rise.

Aramis didn't remember running to the bathroom, nor closing the door and locking it. He knew it was locked because someone was hitting it and shouting. Too loud, echoing inside his head. Aramis wasn't listening, concentrating too much on the dry heaving that rang through his entire body, making him shake even more. Aramis skin felt raw and deadly cold to him, so pale it matched the porcelain of the toilet he was leaning over.

The banging continued, people were arguing just outside the door. It was too loud, too close. Aramis needed out now, but he had trapped himself in the bathroom. One sharp, louder thud on the door, made him flinch back, landing on his behind.

He was cold, too cold. It felt as if snow had ripped his skin clean off and seeped right into his veins, determine to freeze him from the inside out. Aramis crawled into the shower and forcing the water on full heat with one quite jab. He sat under the water flow, still fully dressed, clinging to himself hard enough to bruise, waiting for the heat. He could still hear screaming, of his friends and souls that were trapped like he had been. He slammed his eyes shut, a white and red forest flew into his vision behind his closed lids. He gripped his arms tighter around himself and dug his nails into his flesh, wanting the pain that it brought. But his numb skin refused to feel anything that was real. He jerked his head back hitting the tiles behind him, hard. Pain rang through his head, it was a different pain to the numbness that was his skin, it felt real and he needed the distraction. 

Aramis focused on the voices that were muffled by the door, to keep his mind in the present. The shouting outside had stopped, replaced by one worried voice, it wavered ever now and again. His mind still mulled too much to actually tiger out the words. The water was hot now, burning hot. But it relaxed the pain in his joints and Aramis slowly unfolded himself.

With the heat came realisation, the memories of the night started to come back to him. Reality mixing with the allusions his mind conjured up. As the shock died, tears mixed with the water running down his cheeks. 

Aramis didn't know how long he sat there, lost in his thoughts and letting the boiling water consume his iced skin. Only when the voice from behind the door had stopped and Aramis was sure that his friends no longer waited for him, did he pull himself up on shaking legs, turn off the shower and manage to untangle himself from his soaked pyjamas. Aramis opened the door, wrapped in a towel and avoided all of the mirrors on his way to his bedroom, thankfully not assaulted by his brothers. He couldn't face them yet. He needed space right now, just a little bit of space and he knew they wouldn't want to give it to him, too ruled by their worry to realise how much he just needed to get away, just for a bit. That thought made him panic, he needed out NOW.

Aramis next motions were a blur, completely on auto pilot. He got dressed, ignored the finger shaped bruises he had made on his arms, packed a bag and was halfway to the front door before someone came out of their hiding place. It was Porthos. The larger man stood between Aramis and the front door, blocking his exit. Aramis didn't even meet his eyes as he pushed past him, refused to even reregister the apologies Porthos was saying as he went. Once outside with only the pinching wind and darkness of the night for company, Aramis felt like he could finally breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Any mistakes let me know.


	15. To meet an old friend.

Before Aramis knew it, he was below the city. Not quite lost in the winding tunnels that held a devious intent to make the people who scurry down its passages, forfeit any sense of direction. He knew these passage ways like they were burned into his brain. They could not make him lose his way but rather he felt welcomed by his meticulous knowledge of them. Aramis knew not just the twisted map of the dead walls, but the skulls that guarded their bones on a much more personal level. He knew a few faces that were buried here when flesh covered the cream of bone. 

The remains had been dragged down here to frame the ‘Gate of Hell’. If he didn't know better he would wonder if he had been moved down here as well, maybe that's why it felt so homely. No, he had been left in Savoy buried with others in resistant, frozen ground. Still, Aramis felt he belonged with the dead, but he craved the reassurance of the living. The warmth of being alive that he so early lost, made him crave contact, touch, touch that his brother would always give. He did not crave it now. Betrayal burned bright and made his feet move faster beneath him, spurring across the limestone floor and disturbing the dust that settled long ago. 

His dreams smothered his reality, making the darkness became threatening and small creaks echo as loud as thunder, but not down here. There was a warmth in the stone walls that open air and sunshine could not offer. A sort of closed off, little pocket of separate reality, that could not be affected by the constant change that happened above. This was a place of solitude, his place, but he hadn't been here for years, not since he had come back. Back then, the new world confused him. So busy and loud, but he had grown to love the artificial light and the new social conduct. Thus he had not needed the solitude, he had had his brothers and they had brought the calm to the rushed world that he needed. They had made the world that had changed so drastically, make sense. 

But his brothers had muddied the water. The facts that Aramis relied on had become distorted. Making his reality slowly become like one of his nightmares, maybe he WAS still asleep. His mind was still disordered by the dreams that plagued his sleep, not knowing what real or not and he knew it too. 

So he trudged down the passageways, lost in past memories and letting the ingrained knowledge of the tunnels lead him. Aramis stopped on reflex in front of an old door, lost to any sense of the contemporary world. The shaped wood and metal did not let strangers in, but he was no stranger. It opened before he even reached for the handle. 

The door opened to a well light, decorated cave. The walls lined with book cases and gave an overall friendly warmth. Aramis used to visit Merlin a lot, he used to practically live in the cave. But he had wanted to explore the ‘new’ world. To travel and see not just the good but the bad too. He had wanted to know the world, how it had changed, how it had stayed the same and how he fit in it now.

The army had welcomed him, so he had left Merlin and Leon to gain his own new experiences. Now it felt as if he was coming home again. A sort of old familiarity from shared history made this home, unlike his apartment with Porthos and all his brothers themselves. His brothers held a different home, one with smiles and the lack of history and respected lack of intimate knowledge of each other, but still, it seemed they knew each other too well sometimes. It was a place with hugs and laughter, a place where Aramis could forget about Rene and he could forget about Lancelot.

Merlin was not in the main room and Aramis didn't know if he was thankful for that. But he had no doubt the old wizard knew he was there, standing on a mess of rugs and wondering what he was doing with himself. Aramis sat down on one of the sofa chairs and watched the fire. As Aramis mind started to wonder, he tried to deter it from his brother. He didn't want to think about them, didn't want to admit that they had gone behind his back and how they had been right to do so. He understood the why, but he couldn't get past the fact they did not have the right to trap him in his version of hell, an icy dark hell. That was harder to forgive and he didn't know if he wanted to. He knew he was hanging on to the anger, but he was just so tired he didn't really care anymore. Merlin's home was warm and Aramis welcomed the way it made his muscles relax. The initial shock of his never ending nightmare had worn off on his walk here and now he was just tired. The sort of tired that didn't come from running a marathon, but rather emotional drained and not enough sleep over the last few weeks to keep up. Aramis didn't even realise that he had drifted off to sleep.

 

-

 

Aramis woke to music. Strings of soft melody spun through the space around him. Mozart wrapped his Symphony around Aramis’s mind, waking him calmly. Only when he was fully aware did he realise he had slept without any haunting images of Savoy or the vail.

“ Sleep well?” A voice broke through the classical music, Aramis immediately identified it as young Merlin's voice. Aramis looks up to find the blue eyed man, who sat sipping tea, on a sofa chair opposite him. 

After a pause,“ Thank you,” Aramis replied quietly, still feeling what ever magic Merlin had used to take the nightmares away. Merlin had done it before when he had lived here. After a few false tries, Merlin had managed to create a spell which would take away the memories while he slept and he could be easily woken. 

Aramis could help see the similarities to what his brothers had done, but it wasn't like whatever Porthos had put in the tea. It wasn't as invasive and didn't trap him in his nightmares. What his brothers had done, had made him afraid. Trapped in a place he despised and he remembers fighting back, but over time his enemies grew stronger, fiercer. He had relived the memories of Savoy and worse, whatever they had given him had dredged up the vail. The dark abyss, where the darkness was tacky and stuck to his skin. How the souls trapped in the darkness seemed to be able to cut through it cleanly with their claws. It didn't stick to them, only those with flesh and bones. They dragged him deeper, clung to his skin and when he fought back, they would not let go instead his skin would rip and tear. They were hungry and he was the only thing with flesh to bleed.

“ You've slept for a long time, your friends will be worried,” Merlin said with concern but also a slight judgment on the way Aramis had left his apartment the night before.

“ Don’t go into my head,” Aramis mumbled as he rubbed his face and weaved his fingers through his tangled hair.

“ I'm not in your head, you're just thinking too loudly. I don't know how the empath friend of yours deals with you.” Merlin replied, looking rather annoyed from his place across from him.

Aramis just sighed, he didn't want to think about what he had been putting Athos through the last few weeks. Athos would never say when the voices became too loud to block out and Aramis knew he was probably the loudest. He wanted to ask Merlin what it was that was so loud. “ How long have I slept?” Aramis asked instead.

Merlin shrugged, “ You got here at 4 am and its dark now so at least 15 hours.” Aramis didn't know what time he had woken from his nightmares, but he knew he had walked here, the walk its self was fuzzy. But it would have taken a long time with out a car. 

“ Okay, whats the time then?” Aramis said as he lends forward to scrub his face with his hands, slightly annoyed at the way Merlin couldn't give a straight answer sometimes.  
“ It's 10 to 8 pm,” Merlin replied 

16 hours then, Jesus, Aramis thought, he really had slept for a long time and blessedly dreamless at that. He still felt tired, but not to the point where it grounded on his bones and made his mind foggy.

Merlin was right, his friend would be worried, but he didn't want to leave yet, he wanted to stay away just to give himself some distance from the inevitable. There would be yelling when he got back, and Aramis knew that the lack of sleep had made him more emotional than usual, in all honesty, he wanted to cry just thinking about how guilty he had made the others probably feel. 

“ I'm going to meet an old friend of ours, you can come if you want to put that conversation off even longer,” Aramis snapped his head up at Merlin's words, but Merlin just stared back daring Aramis to say something about being in his head again. 

“ If it's not too much of a burden,” Aramis said quietly after breaking Merlin’s gaze.

“ You, my friend, are never a burden, despite how much you think it,” Merlin said as he stood.

 

-

 

Aramis followed Merlin into the dingy bar. He was actually quite excited to see such an old friend. The last time he had seen Leon was 12 years ago. Leon had helped him adjust to the new world around him, he taught him about TV’s and microwaves as well as the internet, things at the time were more like magic than science. He had done the same in 1615, but it had been much easier then. The soldiers still carried swords and there was no electricity or a major difference in society or how things were done. Muskets had puzzled him back then, but he quickly adapted to the new weapon in his hands, it helped he had a knack for it.

The bar was dingy in that sort of way that it was meant to be. Leon stood as they entered. A grin spread across his face at the sight of an unexpected friend following Merlin in. He marched across the bar and gave Aramis a big hug, practically knocking Merlin out of the way to do so.

“ I'v missed you, my friend.” He exclaimed now cupping Aramis’s cheeks to get a good look at him. Aramis couldn't help a small laugh.

“ As I have you,” Aramis replied. Merlin watched on as the two old friends greeted each other. He knew how much Leon missed Lancelot or rather Aramis now, as the man would ask how the other man was doing when ever they met. 

Unlike Merlin who spent his immortality cooped up with his dusty books in his little pocket of existence, Leon liked to travel as well as get into his fair share of fights. He had fought every war that crossed his path and now, Merlin would send him off on errands and cases around the world to keep the man busy. 

Merlin's immortality was due to Arthurs impending reincarnation, where Leon’s was a curse similar to Lancelot’s. He had died in battle only to wake up among the bodies of his comrades. He never aged and he never died. Merlin had tried to reverse the curse but didn't really know where to start as its origin was a mystery. Aramis’s curse was due to his sole being mangled by the veil and then resurrected by Morgana, for one can not bring a soul back from the other side easily, it has to be tied to something and that part is the curse. Lancelot’s soul had been split in two, held in the real world half in the vail. The problem was his soul wasn't really a soul anymore. Half a soul Is called a shard and it was that that animated his loyal friend's body and a shade wasn't technically living and thus couldn't travel to the other side to get his other half back. Merlin assumed his half soul stayed in limbo, but the vail was an ominous place with little knowledge about it. They still didn't know why he would suddenly appear with centres in between. 

“ Merlin” Leon said while embracing the much smaller man. Leon then lead them to the table he had deserted a few moments ago. He orders a few drinks before turning his attention to his old friends.

“ Lanc… sorry I mean Aramis, how is the 21st century treating you, I heard you got it to the SIU.” 

“ Well, the internet sure does make everything easier, though I still don't understand twitter, and I'm sure you probably know every inch of my life.” Aramis finished his sentence by glaring at Merlin. The younger looking man put both hands up in surrender. 

“ Him putting his nose where it doesn't belong is probably my fault, I asked him to check up on you.” Leon laughed. “ Your friends sound nice, more like a family.” Leon was very happy that Aramis had found a place to settle, the man deserved it, after all, he had lost and how his life was manipulated at every turn.

“ Yes, they are like brothers to me,” Aramis replied with a small smile. 

“ Aramis, Why did you pick that name, I think I preferred Rene it suited. Even if it was a girls name.” Merlin jested, the last part he said under his breath. Rene did suit him, after all, it did mean reborn, And Lancelot had been reborn 4 times now. unlike Leon and himself, Aramis just sort of randomly came back, as far as he could tell there was little reason to when and where.

Aramis gasped and faked offence. “ It is a genderless name, actually. and it was a traditional Spanish name at the time,” he said in his own defence.

The all laughed at the old joke that had been told quite a few times over the years.  
Once the reminiscent banter was over Leon and Merlin eyes met, and looked at each other.  
Aramis could see they were trying to find a way to tell him something. And judging by the way the lull in the conversation dropped to a darker tone, it was something serious  
“What is it.” Aramis sighed before sipping his beer.

“ There have been signs recently, ravens have been spotted flocking to the woods where Morgana was buried, as well the spirits restlessness is disconcerting.” Merlin filled in.

“ You don't think she's coming back, do you?” Aramis inquired rather hastily, His anxiety starting to rise as memories of Morgana’s treachery as well as her manipulation. Aramis had tried not to think about what Marsac had told him or Marie’s threats, dismissing the warnings but to his own fear of it.

Leon looked down before replying, eyeing the table. “ No, we think she is already back, and been back for a while now, maybe even a decade. We don't even know if she will look the same.” 

“ WHAT! How come she hasn't made a move yet? Why are the signs starting now? Why didn't you tell me?” Aramis bombard them with questions. Danger suddenly seems around every corner, Morgana was loose and probably planning something as they spoke.

“ We think she's gathering power, allies and alike, and the signs could be her planning something. There were similar signs when she was gathering enough power to bring you back.” Aramis looked down at that, his own shame still stung, how he had betrayed Arthur, as well as Camelot. His memories of that time were rippled like water, It was odd because it was still him, just a much smaller part of him like they said a ‘shard’.

“ We didn't tell you because you practically refuse to see me, and I get it. You want to live your life as Aramis, and being in contact means your Aramis, Rene d’Harbley and Lancelot. I get that, it's too much at one time.” Merlin finished.

“ But “ Leon started, “ A wars coming and we need all the fighters we can get. If Morgana is gathering an army we need to start recruiting, we need people like those friends of yours.”

“ Will you fight?” Merlin finished.

Aramis thought for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. “ Fine, I'll fight, after all, it is my battle just as much as it is yours. But you will leave my friends out of this. I know their SIU cops but this is going to be as bloody and messy as it was the first time.” Aramis ran his fingers through his hair, his anxiety starting to pick up. 

Leon nodded his acceptance of Aramis’s desire to protect his brothers. It was very much like Lancelot to do so.

“ When they came to see me a few weeks back, I may have hinted at something,” Aramis head shot up at Merlin's words. “ I think your friend Athos knows something. He seemed partially on edge and his aura was dark and angry.”

“ What do you mean? Athos knows nothing of any of this.” Aramis said protectively.

“I didn't say he was evil, just thinking evil things at the time. I don't think he’s one of Morgana’s puppets.”

Aramis hated this, he hated it all. Why couldn't things be simple? Aramis just wanted one of his lives to be peaceful and not plagued by his own past. Both men silently agreed to drop the matter, Merlin didn't know anything more and if he did he wasn't going to share it.

With the serious business out of the way, the conversation turned to more merry things, of adventures and their more current lives.

They drank and told stories well into the early hours of the morning, like they used to do with the other knights of the round table, in a time long forgotten by fact and only myth and legend spoke of those times now.

Once the bar had emptied out, Leon walked Aramis home, stopping on the steps of his apartment to wish his friend goodbye and Aramis readied himself to face his brother who were just a few floors up. People used to say he was brave, bravest of them all. He would disagree. His hand shook as it reached for the handle, but something stopped him from opening the door. So instead he knocked and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the dialogue in this chapter is a bit weird, but it fought me the whole way and I've tried to make it flow better but then I was like fuck it, so yeah.
> 
> Thanks for reading. :D


	16. Coming home

The arguing stopped and they all turned to the knocking at the door. They had been ‘discussing’ what to do next. The remaining three friends had looked for their missing fourth for the last 24 hours, but with a city to hide in, there was little chance of finding a trace. And they had found just that; nothing. After a few hours of scouring the streets, they had retreated back to the apartment. 

Athos had told them to sleep, they hadn’t. Athos had told them that Aramis would be home by the morning, he wasn’t. Athos was a firm believer that Aramis would wonder his way back to them, like a stray puppy that you fed a little too often. Aramis was as reliant on them as they were on him. Aramis would find his way home even if he was lost, and not the kind of lost that could be solved with a map. But Aramis got lost too often and he sometimes needed a guide, but he had run away from THEM this time. 

So Athos had tried to sleep or at least pretended to so that maybe the other two would follow his example. They sort of did, they all pretended to rest and when the sun fully rose, they were out on the streets again, looking. They had work tomorrow, the weekend almost over. Treville would not let them have the day off for something like this, no matter how much the old man went out of his way to protect them. 

And after the sun had set, still with no sign of Aramis, they had returned home to the apartment and argued, the peace that Aramis brought had disappeared along with him and tension grew without their mediator. Until someone knocked on the door.

Athos being the closest went around to the short hallway just of off the lounge to the front door. He didn't expect to see Aramis when he opened it, standing in the cold. His friend had his head bowed and kicked his shoes a little. Athos didn't think he had ever seen the charismatic man look so morose, so…guilty…?

Aramis had knocked, had knocked on his own door like he didn't belong there anymore. The older man had prepared there to be anger when they finally found him, ready to explain himself but make sure that the younger man knew that he was angry that Aramis had hurt himself so much that it forced their hand. But he just looked guilty, defeated. They had squashed his spirit. 

Athos opened the door fully, allowing the younger man to enter. Aramis kept his head down cast as he when through the door way and moved to the lounge, awaiting what ever judgment his brothers had to offer. Aramis stopped just on the edge of the pale couch, fiddling with the edge of his jacket. Aramis wasn't wearing anything that would keep the cold out except for the thin jacket, Athos thought that even the cold hadn't driven him home. 

Porthos quickly strides across space between Aramis, so relieved just to see the younger man he forgot that they weren't on good terms. He went in for a hug, big arms almost reached the Spaniard before Aramis took a step back, then frown like he hadn't know why he had done so. Porthos let his arms drop, knowing they were about to face the elephant in the room. Aramis wouldn't even look him in the eye. Despite worrying himself sick, Porthos was glad to see a bit of colour in the Spaniard's cheeks and the dark smudges under his eyes lessen compared to before. Aramis had looked worse when he had stormed out with wet hair and wet eyes. Porthos had tried to stop him, but Aramis hadn't even looked at him when he had left, didn't listen to the big man’s words, like he was on a mission to get away from them all. Aramis had always run to Porthos when he needed someone, now he was running away.

Neither man wanted to start, the silence in the lounge grew with tension, Porthos hadn't thought he had ever been in a place so strained, and in his own home too. 

Aramis broke the silence in the end, “ I’m sorry I made you worry.” He spoke in a quiet voice as if any louder would not only shatter the silence but break everything around them along with it. 

“ What?” Porthos had never been one for fancy words but had expected anger, not an apology.

“ Im sorry I made you worry when I left, but I can take care of myself,” Aramis explained, a little louder this time, but the volume let loose the slight shake in his words. There it was, the crux of the problem, Aramis couldn't take care of himself, even as a grown man his lack of self-preservation and self-worth was actually dangerous. Athos had known him for almost eight years, Porthos had known him longer and Athos had never seen the man act on a selfishness need for his own safety. Even Athos - a man with little to lose - valued own life enough not to end it. But this little event had brought light to how little Aramis cared about himself. 

“ Take care of your self!” Porthos yelled, Aramis flinched back.   
Athos know Aramis hated worrying them and would lie to ‘save’ them from it like the younger man thought he wasn't worth it.

“ Porthos,” Athos snapped, shocked to see Aramis looking so vulnerable. 

But Porthos didn't want to stop, “ Aramis, you were hurting yourself, and you expect us to just stand by and watch! What do you take us for, Aramis! That we wouldn't help you!”   
Athos didn't need his empath ability to tell Aramis was more upset than angry. His emotions felt strained and stretched out like they were about to snap. Like things were just piling up and Aramis needed to let it out before it consumed him.

“ But why did you have to do that,” The ‘that’ was obvious by the way Aramis voice broke as it formed the word. The Spaniard took a moment to just breath putting himself back together after almost breaking, willing his own voice to comply. “ you didn't have the right to, Porthos. You know I hate the nightmares, you know that and you still did it.” 

Porthos was shocked into silence for a few seconds, Aramis never mentioned his nightmares, the whole topic was avoided like it was taboo. “ Do you think we should have just let you slowly kill yourself through sleep deprivation?” He snapped, “You weren't eating and barely talking. Do you think we care so little about you! Jesus Aramis, we went looking for you all night, where did you even go!?” Porthos said as he gestured around, trying to contain his anger. The big man was overly conscious of the way Aramis kept his distance and refused to look up. Porthos knew if he could see his own aura, it would be a dusky red, changing his frustration and anger into a visual colour. But he couldn't see the fuzzy red in front of his vision, he was spending half his focus blocking out the dark, grey blue blur that Aramis had emitted since he had come home. 

“ Listen Aramis, We’re sorry that we upset you, but we refuse to let you hurt your self from not sleeping. It was getting to the point where we HAD to do something.” Athos said calmly, hoping it would let both Aramis and Porthos see peace. 

A silence much heavy than before, wrapped around the four men in the room. 

“ I’m sorry,” Aramis whispered like a desperate child. The Spaniard looked up quickly and Porthos saw a wetness to his eye that he hadn't expected. But Aramis was staring at his shoes again too quickly for Porthos to be certain. “ Im sorry,” The younger man whispered again.

Porthos hadn't wanted this, he hadn't expected Aramis to break down in front of him. He actually wished for Aramis fury rather than this. A man so put together, who never showed himself slipping until he was in too deep, was standing, crying across from him. How had Porthos not seen this coming? How had he ignored the off-ness of his best friends aura long enough for this to happen? Porthos looked to Athos, but their appointed leader seemed to be just at a loss as he was. 

The big man took a tentative step forward, still hyper alert to the way the younger man had flinched back earlier. When Aramis didn't move, Porthos walked across the small space between them, now he was closer he could see the small tremor in the Spaniard's shoulders and the pale tear tracks running down his cheeks. It had Porthos own eyes prick with the knowledge that it was partly his fault, partly Aramis lack of sleep making him overemotional. Porthos pulled Aramis forward with an arm around his shoulders, pushing the younger man into his chest. Aramis didn't protest, he went willingly, Porthos knew that the younger man craved touch when something was troubling him and was relieved that Aramis didn't push him away again. The smaller man sunk into Porthos chest, letting the larger man’s arms hold him tight, a comforting reassurance. Porthos was warm and comforting and didn't say a word as Aramis sniffled into his t-shirt. The other men in the room didn't interrupt, rather, they shared relieved glances between each other. 

d’Artagnan hadn't known of what to do to calm Porthos while Aramis had been missing. And when the Spaniard had returned, looking physically better but held himself like a criminal on death row, d’Artagnan was stumped again as to what to do and was feeling more and more like he probably shouldn't be there. So he followed Athos’s lead, which was to stand there and wait for the two best friends to sort it out.

d’Artagnan had experienced the two fight before, they fought like an old married couple on steroids, who were trained in hand to hand combat and persuasive techniques by the government. But all of the quarrels had been over stupid things like taping over something of the Foxtel or using Aramis’s ‘special’ Garfield mug. But this he hadn't seen and wondered if Athos had either from the way he was reacting to it. 

Porthos had been worried when Aramis wasn't in his direct vicinity. But earlier tonight, Porthos had been properly worried, it was like Aramis was actually on death row by the way Porthos had paced and argued with them about going out and looking again and tapped his hand on anything like it was a nervous tick. But Aramis had returned and now the usually ecstatic man was crying into Porthos shirt and Porthos clang to him like he would disappear again. d’Artagnan would laugh in the face of anyone who tried to separate the two, or hurt one of them; the other would tear them to shreds.

The embrace was interrupted by a hurried knock sounding through the silent space, as one they all looked to the direction of the front door. The moment was over, they all had to come back to reality, Athos made for the door, Aramis pulled away despite the obvious look on his face telling d’Artagnan that he didn't want to and started wiping his face, trying to get any evidence of his miner breakdown covered up. d’Artagnan quickly made himself busy getting Aramis a glass of water. 

d’Artagnan could hear muffled conversation around the corner and down the short hall to where Athos and whoever knocked was. He handed the glass off to Aramis, receiving a small nod as thanks.

Athos came back around the corner, “ It’s for Aramis,” He said matter-of-factly.

Worried quickly flashed across Porthos face, as if the Spaniard would turn down the short hall and never come back. Aramis pulled away from his friends and took a deep breath, steadying himself and went to the front door. 

Merlin stood in the doorway looking a bit haggard like he had run to his front door and quite young. He wore the same clothes he had when they went out, his dark hair astray and blue eyes wide.

“ What are you doing here?” Aramis questioned while leading forward, trying to cover Merlin from view. He didn't need the others asking questions. He didn't need this right now.

“It’s Leon, I need your help,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I know this chapter was a little short, hopefully, the next one will be longer and have more action.
> 
> Any mistakes please let me know


	17. 45 Rue des Roseaux, Colmar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... so this is where I apologize for missing last weeks chapter. I just simply didn't have the time to finish it because I just got a job, had my 18th birthday party ( I'm still recovering from that) and am in my last important term of high school. 
> 
> So, in short, I was just super busy.
> 
> Anyway on to other things.
> 
> The chapter limit is just an estimate, I have a habit of adding chapters I didn't plan for, so it might be more.
> 
> And for some reason, italics don't work when I put it on to AO3 :(
> 
> Hope you enjoy and yet again sorry for last week :)

“ Who the hell is Leon?” Porthos said rather loudly as he paced the length of the cream couch then back again, every now and then glaring at the young, odd looking man sitting on said couch. If d’Artagnan hadn't confirmed what Aramis had said, he wouldn't have believed it.

“ He’s an old friend,” Aramis muttered and turned back to the young man again. “ What happened again,” He asked. Aramis could feel a bad headache coming on. His two lives were starting to intercept each other and it couldn't be at a worse time. Aramis had literally broken down not 15 minutes ago and was still struggling to keep his emotions raging.

Merlin; who Porthos was still getting his head around, started reciting what he had said when he had entered the apartment again. “ I sent him off to 45 Rue des Roseaux, Colmar, to see if you two had missed anything,” He said as he gestured to Athos and Porthos. “ He was meant to call when he got there, which he did and then call again every 10 minutes just to be safe. It’s been over an hour.” 

Aramis started pacing next to Porthos and running his fingers through his hair. Porthos looked across to Where Athos sat on the arm chair near the TV, - his usual spot - he was staring into space and Porthos wasn't ready to deal with the de la Fere country estate again. The whole place left a shadow that Porthos could still feel made him cold, he didn't want his brothers anywhere near that place. 

“ Okay, we all just go there and get him, done,” Aramis said after a while of thinking. He stopped in front of Merlin as if he expected the blue eyed man to disagree with him. 

“ NO!,” Porthos butted in as Merlin opened his mouth. “ He should go, that place is bad like death made its home there. We’re not going, he can go.” Porthos pointed at Merlin.

“ I can't go.” Aramis started pacing again as Merlin spoke. “ I'm looking for our suspect and I need to be at my home to do so.” Merlin finished. 

“ What suspect?” d’Artagnan asked. 

“ Aramis and I think we know who is behind all the missing souls as well as a few other more violent acts recently. The same person who is behind Leon’s disappearance most likely.”d’Artagnan watched as Aramis glared at Merlin.

“ We think we know also,” Porthos said and received a similar glare as Merlin but from Athos. 

“ We do?” d’Artagnan said at the same time Aramis said. “ You do?”

“ Yeah, Athos wife, remember.” 

“ I thought that was a very exaggerated hunch,” d’Artagnan exclaimed while flapping his arms around. “ Like I didn't actually think Athos used to be married to a psychopath, who is meant to be dead.”

Aramis looked over to Merlin still sitting on the couch alone, Aramis was looking for help because he really didn't know how to explain all this.

“ I Didn't expect that,” Merlin said mainly to Aramis.

“ What do you mean?” Porthos asked, glaring at Merlin again.

“ I just mean I wasn't expecting one of Aramis friends to be married to an old enemy of mine,” He said while leaning back against the soft cushions, a little shocked at imaging the horrible woman married. Aramis could have slapped him there and then.

“ An old enemy of yours?” Porthos voice going a little higher.

“ Your wife, Athos. Aramis and I believe she is the necromancer, Morgana.”

A very long pause, in which Aramis took the time to try and formulate some sort of plan on what to say next. Merlin had done a lot for him, first helping him become a knight - even if it didn't quite work out the first time - and then helping him through the dramatic changes as society changed and grew. But right now Aramis was beginning to resent the small blue eyed man.

“ As... As in from the stories.” d’Artagnan stuttered out while leaning forwards suddenly a lot more dedicated to the conversation 

“ Yes, I believe so, though I don't really know what it is that she wants this time around,” Merlin spoke as he looked almost guiltily at Aramis.

Porthos broke through everyone's thoughts,“ Wait, wait wait. So we have a thousand and something-year-old necromancer that just happens to be Athos wife…”  
“ Ex-Wife,” Athos interrupted, voice small from his spot on his arm chair.  
“ Right ex-wife. who for some reason is gathering souls and arranging murders and kidnapping people, and only now do we know about it? ”

Silence. 

“ But,” Porthos continued, anger lacing his voice, “ Aramis knows about it.” The big man glared at the Spaniard. Aramis stopped pacing and gave Porthos a look between hurt and confused. Porthos was expecting answers and Aramis really wasn't ready to give them. 

“ Can we sort this all out after we get Leon back?” Aramis virtually yelled at Porthos glare.

“ Why do you feel you need to keep all these secrets, Aramis. We try so hard to get you to know that we are here for you, yet you hide things from us.” Porthos voice was quieter than before, it made what he said even louder to Aramis, louder than he could have anticipated. He could feel the earlier pin pricks of tears in his eyes. The panic he had felt when had woken up from his enforced sleep started to crawl beneath his skin and start to rise. Aramis started to feel like a trapped animal, He needed out, now. 

Aramis groaned and scrubbed his face. “ Fine, I’ll go then.” The Spaniard said and made for his jacket, heading for the exit.

“ You can't go alone, Aramis,” d’Artagnan said.

“ You're not going alone.” Athos voice rose for the first time since the old estate had been mentioned. “ I know my way around the place well and you're going to need help looking for your friend.” He said as he rose from his seat. d’Artagnan stood just after him, with a small smile curving his lips.

“ Porthos?” Aramis asked.

Porthos looked at the younger man's face and only saw worry for his missing friend, “ Fine.” 

 

-

 

They had left Merlin at their front door, trusting the old? young? man to figure out what ever he needed to, that stopped him from coming with them. Porthos had never disliked Merlin before, but now he seemed to be bringing things long buried to the surface. Porthos didn't want to be angry at Aramis, especially after drugging him, But Porthos couldn't help seeing the cracks in the trust that were the basis of their relationship. Things were falling apart and Porthos felt like he was the only one trying to draw attention to it, the other content with ignoring the damage till there was nothing left to be broken.

They pulled up the old deserted building. Porthos had driven, not trusting Athos to control a car in the moment and Aramis had been fibbing with his pistol and then his cross that hung around his neck, the whole time. Porthos would have actually preferred to not have driven the long drive in the countryside for most of his focus was blocking everyone's auras for the last few hours. Everyone in the car was carrying bright colors that obscured his reality when too many of them got together. But even with all his focus on blocking, as the pulled up the gravel drive the darkness from before slipped past his barriers and seeped into his veins. God, he hated this place.

The shadow that owned the small mansion made the hairs on the back of his neck stick up and held a sort of childish fear over him, like when he was a boy and feared of the monster under the bed. He didn't know back then that the monsters were real. He wondered if the others felt it too. If they did, they didn't show it. Athos moved with trepidation but Porthos was surprised that man hadn't demanded they turn around when they had gotten here. d’Artagnan followed Aramis as he marched up the rest of the drive way and up the few steps to the front double doors. 

“ Come on, let's get this over with,’ Porthos said as he put a hand on their leader's shoulder. Athos gave him a sharp nod before moving forward towards the house. 

Once through the front doors, Porthos noted that everything was the same, to the scatted mold infested furniture to the rotting wall paper. He could hear doors being slammed upstairs and d’Artagnan appeared from around the hall way and called up the stairs. “ Nothing,” It wouldn't take long to search the whole house, looking quickly in each room, a body was hard to miss. 

Athos stood next to the big man in the doorway to the hall where Porthos had found him, covered in his own blood. Suddenly banging was heard above them and Athos flinched to his left. Aramis appeared at the bottom, eyes wide and face pale, displaying a rare sight of panic on Aramis face. 

“ He’s not here,” Aramis rushed out, pacing down the hall, Hands knotted in his hair, pulling hard enough to rip some stands out. 

“ Maybe he’s not here, Aramis,” d’Artagnan said carefully from the other side of the hall, looking sympathetic and couldn't meet Aramis gaze as the Spaniard swung around and stared at him.

“ No. No, no. He’s here, we just need to find him. Athos?” Aramis marched down the hall till he stood not 30 cm away from both Athos and Porthos. Up close Porthos could truly see the worry consuming his usual graceful way of doing things. A visible spark of panic in his eyes. Aramis was Afraid, afraid for his friend. Was Morgana truly this bad? Bad enough for Aramis to lose his composure and rip out his own hair from worry? Aramis had had a tuff few days, maybe this was just that little bit to push him over the edge, the question was what was down there.

“ You know this place, where else could he be?” Aramis asked with desperation, making him sound breathless.

“ I..I don't know Aramis,” Athos stuttered. Aramis’s face fell, panic and worry turning to shock and desperation. Porthos wondered if Morgana had just killed Aramis’s friend and hid the body somewhere.

“ Have you checked the basement?” Athos asked when Aramis looked about ready to self-destruct. 

“ Where?” Was all he asked before Athos was leading the way to a small door hidden in the folds of the house’s walls. 

 

-

The basement’s darkness was split by the warm light of their touches, a complete contrast the dust choked understructure. They all piled down the wooden steps, making a chorus of cumbersome boots. A small draft brought a copper taste on Porthos’s tongue.The inseparables were confronted with a bloodied image as they descended into the darkness. A dusty blond man was tied between two support beams, arms stretched wide. If the topless man could stand he would, but he legs sat half folded underneath him, putting all his weight on his twisted shoulders and wrists. Blood ran from deep lacerations on his chest, as well as mattered in the dusty blond hair and ran down his arms from the bonds on his wrists like rivers.  
A sharp intake of breath to Porthos’s left and Aramis frantic run to the torched man answered the question on Porthos lips.

They had found Aramis’s friend; Leon.

They all followed Aramis closer to the body, but none except the Spaniard went close enough to touch. Aramis hastily put his fingers to the man's neck, they all held their breaths for Aramis to confirm what they all thought. 

“He’s alive,” Aramis voice echoed through the basement and bounced off the concrete walls.

The next few moment where a flurry of motions. Athos and Aramis were untangling the ribbon looking bonds from the man's wrists, while d’Artagnan held two torches, giving light to the blood and gore. Porthos lifted the man by wrapping his arms under the blonds, trying to lessen the strain on the knots holding him.

Athos finished first, his calculated fingers working at the knot calmly, he went to the other side to help Aramis. Aramis seemed to be solely focused on the knot in front of him, his slender fingers going through the motion to untangle it too fast for any progress to actually take place. Athos pushed Aramis away wordlessly and began working vigorously at the knot, undoing it just as fast as the first. 

With the last knot undone, the blonde man fell forward into Porthos waiting arms. They all froze when a pained groan pinched the stuffy air. He was awake.

“ Lay him down, Porthos, lay him down.” Aramis rushed out as he took some of the weight off of Porthos. They gently laid the blonde man on the dusty concrete floor.

Leon, Porthos reminded himself, this man’s name was Leon, eyes were still shut and the whole left side of his face was matted with tacky blood. Aramis started to try to coax Leon into consciences with soothing words and promises that they were gonna get him out of there. Porthos watched Athos survey the man before leaned over Leon and checked his breathing before looking up and shaking his head to Porthos. 

Athos stood and came around the body to where Aramis was trying to untangle the dust blonde hair around a bloody head wound. The older man places a comforting hand on Aramis shoulder and turning him so they faced each other. “ Aramis he’s… he’s not breathing Aramis. I'm sorry.”

“ What? We’ve got to get him back to the apartment before Morgana comes back.”

“ Aramis he’s dead, I'm sorry.”

“ No, he’s not, it’s fine to trust me, we’ve just got to get him back to the apartment.” Aramis didn't look like an old friend had just died, he looks calm and a little confused.

Athos and Porthos shared a look. Had Aramis lost it in the few second it took for Leon to stop breathing? Was he in shock? Or could he just not accept it?

“ Aramis…” Porthos started before Aramis interrupted. 

“ Leon can't die. Help me get him to the car,” Aramis voice shook as he tried to lift the dead weight. Something in Porthos chest lurched at the way Aramis sounded a little desperate like if they could get the body to the car and out of the dingy basement, they maybe everything would be okay.

“ Aramis listen, he’s dead and I know this is hard but we can't help him anymore,” Athos tried to get Aramis to see what was in front of him, using he calm voice and what he hoped was an understanding expression. 

“ No, you don't get it, Leon literally can't die,”

“ What do you mean, Aramis,” Athos tried again, hoping Aramis thought he was on his side, that way they might be able to get him out of the basement before he had a breakdown.

“ I'm being serious, Leon can't die,” Athos and Porthos shared another look. “Iv seen him stabbed, shot, beheaded and drowned, trust me, he can't die. We need to leave before Morgana comes back. Now help me get him to the car,”

Porthos didn't believe Aramis, the younger man must be in shock. But he had a point, they couldn't stay here and wait for Leon’s torturer to come back and find them in the basement, like rabbits in a trap. Aramis was right, they needed to leave, and if that meant carrying a dead body to his car then so be it. In one quick movement, Porthos swung the body over his shoulder and ignored the squelch of hot blood through his shirt.

They made their way up the stairs and through the maze that was the house before exiting the front down. As soon as Porthos stepped through the archway of the old door, it was like a weight was lifted off his shoulder despite the added weight of the body. The darkness felt as if it was clawing at his skin, treeing to keep him trapped there, but he had his brothers with him, it could never hold him when he had his family to protect. He just didn't know how he was going to protect Aramis the foreign weight on his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :D


	18. Frosted Windows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter, but I'm in the stressful, busy time of the year with exams and alike. I really didn't want to upload nothing so here is this short, pretty much uneventful chapter.
> 
> I don't know if I can't get a chapter up next week if not there will be one the week after. And because the holidays are very very soon, more chapters a week will be uploaded yay.
> 
> oh and a Fomorroh is a thing in season 4 episode 6? Of Merlin. So if you want to know more go watch that episode :)
> 
> oh and there is a bit of swearing, but there has been through this whole thing so I don't really know why I'm telling you this.

Red mixed with the clear liquid, pluming then blending, creating smoke like patterns in the water. Aramis lifted the already stained cloth out of the small bowl of warm water. He metrically cleaned each of the cuts littering Leon’s body. From small to big, the blood was washed away till only pale, cold skin was left. 

The wind battered the glass windows, the cold outside threatened snow, sending chills down all of the inseparables spines. A frost had settled over night and spider-webbed the glass. They were well into winter, with the first snow fall being two weeks ago, they expected another cold snap very soon.

Porthos watch as his friend dove into the seemingly useless treatment of cleaning the wounds on a dead man. From his spot in the archway to the lounge from the hall, Porthos watch his friend become consumed with the cleaning and checking of the aura-less occupant of the couch. Porthos didn't know where he sat on the issue, he didn't know is Aramis was telling the truth when it came to his friend's immortality. But he had no doubt that Aramis believe it and he himself prayed that it was true for the sake of his best friend.

“Porthos, would you help me for a second,” Aramis voice shattered Porthos train of thought like glass.

The big man moved closer the couch where Leon laid and waited for Aramis instructions.

“Okay, I just need you to lift him up into a sitting position, I need to check the back of his neck,” Aramis mumbled, he hadn't said much since he had started his vigil. Porthos had never put the word silence and Aramis together, but these last weeks had been trying and it felt like the Aramis Porthos knew was getting lost in the chase around them.

Porthos lifted the dirty blond man up till he sat upright, his head hangs loosely on his limp neck and Porthos grimaced at the cold, dead skin against his warm, blood-flowing hands.

“ What are you looking for, ‘mis,” Porthos asked, dull and bleak like he didn't really care.

“ Fomorroh,” Was all he said as the younger man felt the back of Leon’s neck, working his fingers at the spine just under the skin. Seemingly happy with whatever he found or rather not found, he nodded to the big man.

“ Whats that?” Porthos asked a little unsure as he let the aura-less lay back down on the soft dark blue towels, protecting the cream couch from the blood and grime.

“ A multi-headed snake creature, they’re used to control people,” Aramis said it like it was nothing. Porthos involuntary shivered as he stood next to Aramis. 

“ Morgana, or whatever her name is, she does that sort of thing does she? Going around controlling people,” Porthos said, hoping that is might start up the convocation they had both been avoiding.

The Spaniard went still for a second before moving.“She’s a master manipulator and a good actress, why else do you think Athos was oblivious to he deception for so many years, she doesn't need a creature to make people do her bidding,” Aramis spoke as he packed up the dirty cloths, water and an assortment of other equipment. He made his way into the kitchen to start cleaning up, Porthos followed him, not ready to give up quite yet.

“ You seem to know a lot about this woman, or necromancer,” Porthos said tentatively as he took the bowl out of Aramis’s hands and began washing it up.

Aramis scoffed at that, “ I didn't know her, Porthos. I was just very accustomed to dealing with her games and dealing with the aftermath. If you want to know about her, the best person to ask would be Athos, wouldn't it? Considering he married her and all,” He said with well-hidden contempt, but Porthos could hear it all the same, after all, he *knew* Aramis or at least he thought he did, he became less and less sure of that simple fact recently. “I wasn't even there for when they took her down last time.”

“ Last time?”

Aramis blanched, eyes wide like he had told the most devilish of secrets imaginable. A long strained pause as Porthos watched Aramis try and piece together an answer. “Merlin told you guys that she had come back before and someone had to be there to deal with it, so, Leon and I, and a few other guys fought her, a while ago. Merlin was there too. But I wasn't really there for a lot of it, so I can't tell you what happened.”

“That's a shit excuse, Aramis. And you know it because it doesn't really make sense.”Aramis didn't look at the bigger man in the eye as he put away the medical things he had gotten out.

“ When, Aramis? When did you fight some evil bitch?” Porthos dropped the bowl into the sink, it clattered against the metal frame. 

Aramis flinched, “Before I met you.”

“Aramis I met you when you were 18. When the fuck did you go around fighting against evil with a group of immortal guys? Hu, Aramis, when? Because it sounds like your making some shit up to cover your own arse.”

“ I'm not making things up, I just… I don't like talking about it Porthos. A lot of my friends got hurt and I saw a lot of people die. And there I was in the middle of it and I was meant to be this brave soldier, but I wasn't, I was shit scared the whole time. Okay?”

Porthos felt guilt rise again, some how he can never approach anything with the younger man recently. He was all ways met with hostility and never knew what to do about it other than fight back. Making it worse seems to be the only thing he was good at. His curiosity was getting the better of him, and he knew it. Part of him wanted desperately to leave it be, forget about the secrets and the lies, but you can't un-ring a bell.

“ It was a long time ago. I'm different now. And I don't want to be reminded of how things used to be,” Aramis walked away, back to the couch to continue his vigil on his dead friend.

Porthos knew Aramis had his secrets, they all did. But Porthos felt put-out by the lack of trust that the younger man put in him. As much as Porthos wanted to respects Aramis’ privacy by ignoring the issue, the lies and secrets had become more than just something that was there with a faked oblivious directed at it. Now they were put into the light, and the glare was blinding and attention grabbing. Porthos couldn't ignore it anymore, it was making the gap between himself and his best friend widen till it felt like more than a mile apart. But Aramis was content in ignoring the widening gap till it was too far to jump back across. *Maybe that's just was Aramis wanted?*

 

-

Hours pass, the sun rises taking the edge off of the frosted glass, melting the jagged edges of the window’s spider-web. Midday sets in before the body twitches on the couch. No-one else was in the gray-blue lounge, bar the Spaniard and his never-ending friend. Porthos left in anger hours ago, probably to vent to one of the other inseparables. Aramis appreciated the privacy, he knew secrets would come to light very very soon and he wanted the peace for just a little bit longer. 

The truth was unavoidable and Aramis dreaded the look that will consume his brother's faces when they know. How they will cast him out or maybe even harm him. Physical pain he could deal with, physical pain and he were like old friends now. But the rejection and disgust and the hatred, that he would not be able to bear. It was like waiting for torture.

When they knew he wasn't human, that he was a puppet designed to be manipulated, they will cast him aside. Like the doll he was. They would see him as a traitor as if was on the witches side and it was not like his voice of innocence would persuade them, after all, thats would a traitor would do. 

Each time he came back from that blackness he can never remember, he loses a small part of the soul that used to define him. That vibrant, brave man from over a thousand years ago was long gone and as death chipped away at the broken sliver of soul he had left, he felt more and more inhuman and like a malicious creature hiding behind a charming mask.

The fingers twitch, pale skin warming to a summer bronzed peach. Aramis watched as Leon’s eye lids fluttered, welcoming Aramis to two blue-green confused orbs. “ Hey there, welcome back,” Aramis said with a sad smile.

Leon pushed himself up and opened his mouth. No words formed, but it had always been like that. Leon unable to form the word for a few seconds till memory came back to occupy the new breath in him lungs. So instead of words Leon looked about the lounge and gave Aramis a confused glance along with an eyebrow raise.

“ Welcome to my apartment,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. :D
> 
> and as all ways, any mistakes let me know.


	19. Trouble in Paradise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I was like, ' I can't do a chapter this week, sorry" 
> 
> Well here is a chapter yay.
> 
> The *** mean a flash back or like a past thing.
> 
> There might be a chapter next week, there might not be. I have a lot more exams so maybe, maybe not.

Aramis helped his friend sit up and handed him a shirt. It was a little big on the shoulders, but one of his shirts would have been too small. It belonged to Porthos and he had no doubt that the big man wasn't going be happy about it.

“ Are you okay? Did she do anything to you, beside’s obvious?”

Leon gave a shaky laugh, “ I'm okay, lanc.... Sorry, Aramis.”

“ Good, for a second there I thought you weren't coming back. She got to you and she will be coming for me soon. Did she mention anyone by the name of Athos at all?”

“ Light brown, small scar on his top lip, bright blue eyes?” Leon listed.

“ Yer that's him, are you sure?”  
“ Do you have a photo?”

Aramis stood and unhooked a small photo off of the wall next to the tv and handed it to the blond on the couch. The picture was from a few years back. It was just one of though’s snapshots from life, photographer forgotten, just the sense of home left. I was of all three of them, Porthos with a toothy grin, an arm around Aramis, the other around Athos. Even the stoic leader was smiling, it was small and held no teeth, but a smile all the same.

Aramis sat heavily next to Leon. The Spaniard found it hard to look at something so joyful and real that the photo depicted, it felt too much like a distant memory or even a long forgotten life. He wouldn't have it much longer, the brotherly love and sense of home. But he was determined to protect whatever was left after his secrets aired. 

Aramis waited for Leon to answer. After a few second of squinting at the photo, he spoke, “ that's him.” And Aramis heart dropped.

Silence took over as Aramis came to terms with his close friend's possible demise.“ She’s gonna come after him isn't she?” Aramis asked.

“ I think so, she was pretty angry when I didn't know anything about him. It wasn't like back then when she was driven with her desire to rule Camelot. This time it’s more personal, she's mad with revenge. She want’s him dead, but she also wants him to suffer,” Aramis put his head in his hands. He knew, he really did, that Morgana was coming after his leader. But without confirmation, Athos might just be in the clear. He knew it was foolish to think like that, but he just wanted it all to go away, he just wanted peace and the more he tried to reach it, the further away he got from it, in all his life times.

“ You seem to be at odds with yourself, Aramis. Forever an inner turmoil with you, and it's more than what I just told you,” Leon said as he scrubbed his face with both hands.

Aramis laughed, but it sounded hollow, “ I bring you back from the dead for a therapy session.”

Leon did not laugh, but rather sat in a comforting silence waiting for his long-time friend to open up to him. 

“I feel as if I'm a wolf in sheep’s clothing. They want to know about before, I haven't even told them and the shade thing,” He said and hung his head, wrapping his arms around him self for comfort.

“ They don't want to know, Aramis. They need to know.” Aramis didn't look up, “ She’s back Aramis, in full force and she’s closing in, they need to know.”

“You can't let what she did, get to you, you can't let it controls you. You are you, your Aramis, not Rene or Lancelot. There are moments when I see the knight or the musketeer lurking underneath, but you are your own person. You can't let what a horrid woman did to a man over a thousand years ago control you now,” Leon squeezed Aramis shoulder. “ You need to talk to them,”

“ The amount of soul you have doesn't define you, what she did doesn't define you. it's about the way you think and the way you still care, after years of losing so much. You're not some soulless monster, Aramis and you're foolish to think that,” Leon looked over at Aramis, he could see a small glint of hope there he hadn't seen earlier.

 

***

 

Porthos remembers the first time he saw Aramis. He remembers hating the man. He was young, a child on the sand-swept base. A smooth faced infant amongst war worn men. Porthos had celebrated his 22nd birthday a week before Aramis’s arrival. He turned up one morning with a bunch of other naive children, smiling in the illusion of immortality that youth brings. Aramis had been among them laughing as they entered the sand pit 3 hours north of Baghdad, along the Tigris river. Porthos didn't hate the younger man for being ‘green’, he took an immediate dislike to the man for the coldness in his pearly white teeth and the shiver that ran up the big man’s spine when he looked into Aramis soft, brown eyes. Porthos felt deceived from the moment he had seen him. 

Porthos wasn't convinced that this new sniper was as good a shot as he says or that his hyper activeness, was all there was to the younger man. Porthos had seen many men come through the base, not many stayed. But he had seen what it looks like in someone's eyes when they have seen things others couldn't imagine. After all, he had grown up in the litter streets of the rougher part of Paris. He had seen violence and had learned on the streets and foster homes, how to pick a person apart to see what they're capable of, what to predict. 

But when Porthos saw the ‘green’ sniper recruit he couldn't make heads or tail of him, he knew the young man had secrets from the way no-one knew more than the name on his uniform, and he knew that the man had experienced something terrifying from the way he never let him back open and always had eyes on the exits. Porthos knew that he didn't like him, he just didn't really know why. So Porthos spend a large part of his time on the base trying to Avoid the younger man.

Aramis was hard to avoid, he had a charming personality that seemed to bend even the hardest men to his will. Everyone loved Aramis, everyone except Porthos.

But Porthos couldn't avoid him forever. Aramis HAD been as good a shot as he said and so, the higher ups had decided that Aramis would stay a little longer. Which meant he would get more permeant residence rather than the little guest tent the packed recruits in till they moved off again. Just Porthos’s luck, he had a spare bunk in his small little make shift home he had been given. He got word one day that the sniper would be moved to his quarters indefinitely. The big man had taken the extra room in the already cramped living space, as a treasure. But the arrogant handsome sniper was going to invade it in the next couple of days, it's safe to say Porthos wasn't happy. 

-

Porthos didn't realize why he had hated Aramis, till the big man had slipped up. He lowered his guard for just a second, he was tired, worn from a heavy stress-filled day, he had slipped up. It had happened about 2 months after Aramis had moved in uninvited to the lower bunk. Aramis had complained like a child when he was refused the top bunk. 

Porthos had returned from a sunset mission, nothing too important, but there had been a fire fight. They had been pinned down for 3 hours till the enemy eventually moved on, thinking they were either dead or retreated, too dark to tell which. When he had entered the small room, far too small for two men, he was welcomed with the pitch black, it lulled him to change to his night clothes and pushed him towards his bunk. His tired daze was interrupted halfway up the ladder to the top bunk, by a soft whimper from below.

Porthos climbed back down the ladder and waited in the silence, thinking he may have heard something. Rustle of stiff sheets, another frightened whimper, and heavy breathing. Porthos knew he hadn't imagined it. He switched on the small lamp, it barely lite the small cabin, low enough not to disturb anyone who was sleeping when someone came back from night missions, just like now. 

Porthos was confronted by the sight of someone he hated clutched in the unmerciful grip of a nightmare. Aramis had been drenched with sweat, legs twisted in the sheets and fist clenched so tight around his arms there would likely be bruised tomorrow. And in watching the terror play a fevered dance across Aramis forehead, Porthos had only felt protectiveness for the young man. Shocked with his own sympathy and plagued with lack of sleep. Porthos had slipped up, a haze of dark blue mixed with bright sparks of fiery red, assaulted his vision. Aramis aura of fear and heartbreak, just made Porthos feel more sympathy for the younger man.

Porthos froze momentarily, perplexed by the blurriness of Aramis aura, rather than the clear color he had experienced with everyone else. His eyes followed the odd patterns the sparks of red made, they danced around the murky blue, trying to stay alight for as long as possible till the fear blue starved and suffocated them into oblivion. A pained gasp broke his gaze and brought him back to reality.

There was no way that Porthos could ignore the stressed sounds, as much as he wanted to Porthos could not tuck himself into bed and succumb to his exhaustion. Aramis had been in active combat for less than 3 months, the nightmare was not of the people he killed with his rifle; Porthos knew. They were of before, before the younger man had lost himself in the chaos that was the military. Lost in the sheer number of men and woman. Most joined the army to find themselves, but Porthos could tell Aramis had joined to lose himself.

Porthos reached across the trembling body and unhinged Aramis stiff grip from his own arms. Aramis hand imminently latched onto Porthos’s, gripping tight, nails digging deep. The stronger man pulled Aramis fingers apart, till his palm was visible. Still, Aramis’s fingers twisted in an attempted to clamp his hand closed again. 

Porthos pushed his thumb deep into Aramis palm, while at the same time moved his other hand up to Aramis sweat-curled hair. The Spaniard gripped his thumb like a life line. Aramis flinched back when Porthos fingers brushed against his scalp, a sharp twitch of his head, his fingers twitched deeper into his thumb. The big man tried again, this time trapping Aramis head between his pillow. The younger man twisted again, trying to hide in the folds of the tear and sweat soaked pillow. 

With Porthos fingers caught in the never ending motion of scraping across the younger man's scalp, getting caught in knots and tangles, The big man slowly started to run the pad of his thumb in a small circle on Aramis palm. It was hard at first, Aramis death grip making the movements stiff and smaller than he would have liked. But soon as the joint motions started to calm the younger man, his fingers relaxed enough for Porthos to make a full equal circle. A never ending shape etched into the nerves on his palm. Something continues and reliable in its infinity. It was nothingness and everything, simplified into one small movement.

Porthos slowly became lost in his motions as well. For all, he knew he might have dozed off at one point, but a glint of rising sun from the window pain caught his eye, breaking the illusion of nothingness and everything. He looked back over to the occupants of the bottom bunk, Aramis was still there, still with a frown on his forehead, still with Porthos fingers trapped in his curls but they didn’t caress his scalp anymore, just rested there. Porthos thumb still moved, but Aramis frightened hand was now lax in his grip, completely placid. 

Porthos let the barrier in his mind slip, just to check on the younger man, he told himself. Aramis burst into a mix of fuzzy colors, that still perplexed the bigger man. The younger man omitted a blurry mix of gray-blue. Red still sparked when Aramis mumbled in his chaotic sleep, but they flittered fast in their short life, deep in Aramis chest soon to be hidden from view again, trapped inside where the younger man refused them to leave. Aramis had locked up those flashes of red, fire like in the way they flicked and jumped to life as quick as they died. But when he slept, those locks weren't as guarded and things got out. Whatever it was that had assaulted his dreams, Porthos had chased them away for now. 

The big man climbed into his bed, and ignore the soft mumbles from below. He didn't want Aramis to wake and see him caring like he had, he didn't want to impose on the privacy that the younger man protected with such vitality. Within 5 minutes of Porthos trying to find sleep, someone knocked on their door, waking Aramis with a gasp. Still oblivious to the man above who had stayed up all night, protecting him from the master in his head. 

 

***

 

The old memory burned in Porthos’s mind, making him think of his youth and if he had been anything like any of his friends.  
Porthos would not deny it, he had been a jealous child. Small, dark skinned with charity shop clothing. He had been jealous, Jealous of the other children when they smiled in the playground, or when their parents pushed them on the swings, of their neat packed lunch boxes and flavored juice boxes. And later in life, in high school, he was jealous of their un-scared flesh and easy conversation, jealous of their calmness when faced with a fight and their ability to have respect without earning it. 

But after his high school years, he jealousy dissolved into admiration. He had gone to the army, met Aramis and admired him. He had moved to Paris, joined the SIU, met Athos and admired him. He had been graced with a brotherhood that he had earned the right to call family.

Jealousy he knew, but he could not remember ever feeling envy like he did now. Leon was a dead, aura-less man, that held Aramis’s trust and that was all that mattered to Porthos. He had retreated into his bedroom after he had argued with Aramis. The big man had found their youngest in his sheets, consumed by the fluffy pillows and a mess of quilts and covers. The young lad had retreaded as well when they had returned, d’Artagnan had disappeared to escape the strained, silent hostility that the two best-friends held between them. 

Athos sat on the windowsill, talking into his phone. Porthos could tell that the man on the other side of the phone, was their captain; Treville, by the way, Athos voices was steady but lacked his usual authority. Truthfully Porthos had forgotten that they all had work hours ago, all meant to be sitting in their top floor office, with horrid patched curtains and a mess of color of the carpets, away from this disaster of events one after another. 

Porthos raised an eyebrow at Athos, once the older man had finished the phone conversation. 

Before Athos could speak, a crack from the young rang through the air accompanied by a mix of thumping and a pained yelp. d’Artagnan woke with a start to the loud noise. They all shared a look before exited Porthos bedroom as one, all with worry in their hearts and curiosity on the faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy :D


	20. Blue Blurs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is another flash back in this one. I hope no one minds. Honestly, flashbacks are really annoying to read, but these ones are sort of important if another story comes out after this one. 
> 
> So I'm on holidays now, so hopefully two chapters a week, but no promises.
> 
> and Porthos point of view, came across really choppy, but he is seeing everything in auras and is probably very confused and concussed himself.

Athos felt strained as he exited the bedroom, with d’Artagnan and Porthos just behind. With all the strong emotions running around everyone's head he was finding it harder and harder to just ignore them. They raged with every word Porthos and Aramis crossed, with every intention and slight incline of desire. But the crashing from the lounge had sent animosity running through Athos’s veins and into every nerve, breaking any wall he had put up, fearfully easily. A prickling sense of hostility and danger, and if he hadn't had the time to think about it, he would have run to the occupants of the lounge, disregarding the possible danger in defence for one of his closest friends. But he had had time to think about it, the small quick motion of opening the bedroom door and marching down the hall was all he needed to cement that particular sense of danger, one the came with the sent of blue forget-me-nots mixed with bitter copper of blood.

As the three men rounded the corner to confront the intruder, none expected a shadow. A shadow that spread across the entirety of the back wall, blocking all of the happy smiles that hung from them, with a thick black cloud. A mob of blond curls lay face down in a growing pool of blood, but Athos found himself disregarding it quickly. It was not the person he was looking for. He quickly found Aramis sitting, with his back to the grey-blue wall, hand deep inside his hair, gripping it tight enough to rip it out. With the noise of the three men entering, Athos watched as the younger man looked up at him, eyes squinting, nose bloody. Athos took a step towards Aramis, a blurred outline of a figure stepped forwards in time with the older man. Athos froze, not wanting to initiate an attack.

The figure almost invisible by the dense blackness took another step forward and with one small flick of its wrist, both men either side of Athos flew backwards, thudding as they hit the wall behind. Athos quickly turned to see Porthos on his side, chest rising and falling, a large hole in the wall behind where Porthos’s weight had punctured it, d’Artagnan on his back, his shoulder at an on angle probably dislocated, thankfully breathing also. 

Athos, now the only able body, asked: “ What do you want?” Voice strong, he wasn't going to let them get to him, even if he had no weapons, nobody able on his side, he would not surrender. 

The figure, that Athos was still not ready to accept was the woman he married, raised its hand again. A deep scream let loose from the pit of Aramis’s lungs. Athos watched as Aramis whole body twitched with whatever pain the figure was inflicting. 

“ Stop,” Aramis screamed again, “ Anne, Stop, please,” He yelled louder. The figure froze for a moment and with one swaying motion, her head turned. Athos couldn't see anything other than a fuzzy outline, but he could feel eyes on him, digging in deep, searching eyes. Athos would deny any fear he felt in that moment. 

Aramis kicked out and screamed, rare and raspy. “ Please Anne, please stop hurting him,”

The darkness let her hand drop, loose and flimsy like it truly was that easy to inflict such pain. Aramis’s head dropped with a gasp, it bounced on his shoulders a few times before laying limp in-between them. Blood covered the carpet. A small part of Athos thought that they would have to replace the carpet after all this. Aramis gasped for breath, he didn't look up and Athos feared the damage that had already been done.

“Not Anne anymore,” The figure’s voice echoed around the small cushioned lounge. A sort of hollowness possessed every word, it held none of the honey sweet voice Oliver had once fallen in love with. 

“ Then… Then what should I call you?” Athos asked, his only intent was to bide his time for something to come his way, because now defenceless with hostages against him, he could see how this ends, him dead on the carpet surrounded by the bodies of his brothers. 

The figure swayed slightly, as if thinking, “ Milady, I like that, it’s Milady now. It’s very archaic. But you would know all about that wouldn't you.” Athos was confused for a moment before Aramis screamed again. That little dig had not been intended for him, but rather the bloodied man on the floor. 

“Stop,” Athos yelled, taking a step forward, arm stretched out.

Milady did, Aramis head bobbed again and more blood sprayed the carpet. “ Why should I? He’s not your pet, he’s mine. And you should let me play with my little puppet.”

“ Please, just tell me what you want,” 

“ What I want is to see you suffer,” She hissed out. Aramis screamed, but this time it was broken like he couldn't get enough air to pass through his voice box. It was choppy and quickly turned to gasps.

“ TAKE ME THEN!” Athos yelled, “Just please, please stop hurting him.” 

Aramis slide sideways till he lay on the now red carpet, hand still twisted in his curls, probably too knotted, too entwined for gravity to let it fall.

Milady laughed at his plea, it echoed around the older man. Coming from all angles, pinching his skin with bitter cold. “ But how else are you meant to suffer?” Athos heard it then, a hint of that sweet voice he knew so well. 

Before Athos could fully process the words that had left Milady’s blacked silhouette, a blinding white consumed the whole apartment, accompanied by a sound similar to being underwater. Knocking Athos to the ground, he shielded his face when he heard glass break. Athos tried to open his eyes but found the raw light too bright and too loud for him to do anything other than lay there and wait for it to be over.

 

***

Porthos kept silent about his little intervention on Aramis privacy. He kept his distance from the other man as much as possible and Aramis kept to himself just as before, wild in conversation, but lonely when people weren't looking. Completely unaware of Porthos knowledge of the things he kept private. 

The day Aramis truly became Porthos friend, the day they became inseparable, was the day Aramis and his troupe went missing. Porthos had got word the second the secondary unit became unresponsive. All radios were out, not a whisper of white noise on the frequency. It was then that Porthos realised how depended he was on Aramis, despite the man knowing nothing of Porthos help. Over the two months since Aramis first nightmare, Porthos had become depended on the fact the Aramis needed him, even if he didn't know it. Aramis needed him, and Porthos needed to be needed. Like back in the littered street of Paris, Porthos looked after the young ones, the innocent ones, the ones with no-one else. Now Aramis was missing, Porthos panicked. 

Aramis was missing for 16 hours, of which he and 3 other squad members hid till they were sure the coast was clear to radio in and return to base. They came back in the dead of night, only four men of the original eight. They landed and were treated by a throng of soldered, clapping them on the back. Congratulation them on coming back safely, purposely ignoring the fact only half actually made it back. Half were dead in the dust, they would be mourned in private after the lucky ones were congratulated on their fortune. The soldiers would morn but not when there were things to be happy about. Porthos learned before most if you cling to the past, it will drown you before you realise how far you swam out in it. 

Porthos watch Aramis smile at the friendly gestures, he watched the too pale man wonder off, into the darkness, away from piercing eyes. Porthos knew what was coming, knew that the facade would crumble and Porthos knew he couldn't just let the lonely man wonder off in the darkness to face his demons alone. 

The big man followed the smaller one, into the small, rarely used passageways between containers and supply tents. Porthos follow with light feet his build didn't account for. He follows silently as Aramis stopped and used his arm to keep himself upright, against a dusty container. Aramis back was to the bigger man, but still, Porthos could tell by the way Aramis’s shoulders hiccuped, that his eyes weren't dry. 

He waited there, hidden by stacked crates, till Aramis body couldn't hold him up anymore. The younger man sunk to the ground, making the sand swirl at him feet. Porthos slowly approached the younger man, who sat hunched over, one hand spread on the ground holding him up, the other buried deep in his chest, as if desperately trying to keep everything inside, like a medic would a bullet wound. 

Porthos approached with care, knowing just like the nightmare, that this grief was private and not something to be taken lightly, and knowing his presence was probably not welcomed. Hitched breathing echoed about the metal walls surrounding them. Porthos knew that sound well, He had woken many times to hear that panicked noise below. He would know that sound anywhere. 

Porthos, more on instinct than anything else, gave up all stealth, knowing that his panicked, morning friend was too consumed by his own raging fuzzy emotions to take note of the foot steps approaching. He sat next to Aramis, who barely passed him a quick glance. The hitched breathing had turned into gasping, like his grief sat lodged in his throat, refusing to let any precious oxygen past. 

Aramis arm, the only thing holding him up, shook and threatened to send its owner crashing into the dust. Porthos reached around Aramis, as soon as his hand touched the loose army cameo that Aramis wore, he flinched back, away from the touch, causing the shaking arm to collapse on him. Before the younger man could register that he was falling, strong, big arms circled him as Porthos pulled the panicked man to his chest. Aramis fought at first, not fully realising what was happening, still caught up him lost memories and emotions.

Porthos man-handled the small struggles, till Aramis sat in between his legs, back pressed firmly to the big man's chest, both wrists held firmly in one of Porthos big hands. Without thinking, the big hand's spare hand found Aramis’s smaller, paler one, and the circle that calmed the younger man in his sleep, started it’s never ending loop. “ Just breathe, Aramis. One big breath for me,” Porthos pleaded. 

Aramis, restraining in the much stronger man's arms, tried. Porthos asked again, and Aramis tried again. And they continued, Porthos soft voice in the night, soothing the raspy-ness of Aramis's strained breathing. Till, possibly hours later, Aramis could get a solid breath into his lungs. The circle on his palm never stopped. Now that Aramis’s lungs were co-operating with their owner, tears fell easily, and continuous. Aramis no longer fighting the bigger man, twisted till he gripped the front of his uniform and cried till the sun rose and light the dusty alleyway, he clung like a man desperate for the warmth of a living body. Porthos would never judge, not when he had been in the same place before and wished someone would stumble along and hold him while his chest was torn in two. Neither men had quite realised how much they had needed each other in the dust pit. From that moment onwards neither man left the others side, a silent pact to always be there. And later, much later, when Porthos left the army to return to Paris, with a promise from his best friend, that as soon as the army would let him Aramis would join him. Not quite realise how long that could be, and how much someone can change.

Porthos often wondered if it was solely coincidence that Aramis had walked into the same bar Porthos had been sitting in with his new co-worker; Athos. Three years after leaving Aramis in the army and not a word from the younger man since Porthos sore him again, It didn't take long for Aramis to join the SIU along side Porthos and Athos. 

****

Fragmented images from a dusty alleyway, lined with containers and tents, faded and swirled till he colours blurred and made new shapes. Concussed-dream blending with images of reality, till only colour with little meaning, was left. The world was a blur of colours, fuzzy and patchy around the edges, but they blended together like they were designed to, like they wanted to. They danced and flickers, darkening when the muffled sounds rose. They enticed Porthos as he watched them swirl and change. Sleep seemed to be chasing the big man as his eyes fluttered, but the colours bleed and muted with each other and Porthos found himself caught in their beautiful show. 

There was one particularly dark blur, it was large and intimidating with the ground it owned compared to the other blurs. It reached out it swirls of darkness, poisoning all it could reach. Porthos could see where it had already reached one of the brighter colours, it darkened deep inside of the blue and red snuff. The blue shrunk and the red flickered till it flickered no more, and Porthos found himself missing with bright fiery colour among the dark black, slowly consuming the blue. The other colour smaller than the darkness, swayed in deep forest green in a way that suggested a need to spread and cover more ground. It held a desperate need for dominance, for control that the dark black void wouldn't let.

Movement stilled for a moment, frozen in time and indecision. Till suddenly there was only movement, Porthos watched as the darkest blur moved fast to the whiteness, bouncing off of one of the only solid shapes in Porthos view. The dark blur shrunk before vanishing, leaving a swirl of grey fog behind. 

It was only after the blinding white had diminished, did real shapes begin to take the place of the beautiful colours, and only then did the muffled sound took the place of panicked shouts and pained whimpers.

Porthos looked around with new eyes, he found the forest green blur of Athos moved quickly, leaving a trail of green behind. He found the place which the blue blob, a much more coarse entity, had occupied and found Aramis leaning against the wall, head lolling and hand buried in his own hair, Athos holding him up. It was after quite a few moment of sorting through his own concussed thoughts did Porthos realise that the red spark Aramis often held was back, and it took him a moment longer to realise it was blood dripping down his nose and onto his jumper, covering the carpet underneath him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know about any mistakes and hope you enjoyed.


	21. Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm still alive and very sorry that it took way too long for this chapter. I was busy and it didn't want to get written. 
> 
> In two chapters time, we start hitting the stuff that has been written for months and then they will be uploaded twice a week.
> 
> sorry again.

The world spun as Porthos tried to find his feet, a chorus of noise coming in and out of focus, making his head spin even more. His legs gave-way in time with Aramis’s next scream and he sunk back to the ground. The big man took a moment for his brain to stop bouncing off of his skull before trying to stand again, He took in the swirling auras that blended like ink in water, with the reality that surrounded him. He was surprised to see Merlin, a bright light amongst the dark hues of his comrades and the disaster that had become his shared apartment. 

Shattered glass decorated the carpets, catching the differing colours only Porthos could see, reflecting like Christmas lights. The glass-less windows let in the winter wind from the street outside, making the curtains fly and whip sharply when a gust caught it right. The coffee table smashed and where Aramis sat with Athos and merlin crowding him, the carpet bleed, bright red. this time with the knowledge that his best friend needed him making his feet find balance, he stood. 

-

Athos pulled Aramis to his feet, only to find the Spaniard's knees unable to hold him. His legs sagged and the younger man gripped Athos’s shirt to try and keep himself upright.

“ Get him on the couch !” Merlin demanded as he took one of Aramis’s arm and began to lead the both the few paces to the cream couch. “ Keep him awake !” 

“ Should I call an Ambulance?” Athos shouted back. Merlin shook his head and carried on.

In a sort of awkward motion, they sat the Spaniard onto the cushions with Athos on his knees in front of him. Aramis heaved in a ragged breath, it sounded as if it kept getting lodged somewhere in his throat and Athos, for a brief moment wondered if he would simply just stop breathing altogether. Blood soaked the younger man’s jumper as well as his nose, mouth and chin. In a drunken movement, Aramis raised his other hand, only to also bury it into his curls. Athos gripped the younger man’s wrists when his fingers began to curl inwards with a white-knuckle grip. The older man gently but firmly pulled Aramis hands away, worries flittered across his usually emotion-less face from the amount of force he had to use to separate the man's hands from his dark hair. Aramis whimpered and shook in Athos’s grip.

Sounds emitted from the kitchen, chaotic cluttering and rushed muttering. Athos tore his eyes off of Aramis to see what Merlin was up to in the kitchen. Before he could ask what Merlin could possibly be doing, movement from his right caught his attention. Porthos stood on wobbly legs and staggered over to the pair by the couch. 

Athos noted the blood that blended with the large man’s black hair. Porthos sat heavily on the couch next to Aramis, looking wildly at Athos for some indication of what to do. And Athos truly did not know. Guilt battled with panic for control, Athos was only still sane with it all due to the one fact that he KNEW none of these things would help right now. He had seen panic cause death in emergencies and Aramis’s life was not worth his emotions. He just prayed with a vitality that would rival Aramis’s, that Merlin knew what he was doing. 

Aramis's next scream wasn’t really a scream. It was garbled and sounded as if he was drowning. Merlin was back in a flash and Athos found himself being pushed out the way. “ What’s happening to him?” Athos asked as he picked himself up from the carpet. 

Merlin didn’t respond, just carried on with his evaluation. Lifting Aramis limp head and examining his eyes and taking his pulse. It was then that Athos saw Aramis brown eyes, gone black. His purples blown so wide, the soft brown disappeared. Athos wondered how Aramis could see at all, without being blinded by any light, but then that was the least of Aramis’s worries right now. 

The Spaniard hacked up a gasping breath and in one quick moment Merlin turned him on his side, just in time for Aramis to cough up an alarming amount of blood, the couch had become another thing sacrificed by its owners. After pushing Aramis back against the couch again, he was gone, back to clutter in the kitchen, leaving only a reminder to keep Aramis awake. 

Porthos, with sluggish movements, shifted Aramis, till he was half on his lap. Aramis for the first time since trying to stand moved intentionally. He shifted himself only slightly so that his face buried in Porthos’s neck and hands that once were pulling out hair, gripped the fabric of the big man's shirt. And when another scream became to rumble in the back of Aramis’s throat, it only took one quick movement, done by both Aramis and Porthos, a joint effort to push Aramis’s face into Porthos’s warm skin to muffle the pained sounds to follow. 

By the time Merlin returned to the trio on the couch, stepping over a still unconscious d’Artagnan, with a brass bowl in hand, Athos and Porthos were having a hard time keeping Aramis awake. Merlin couldn’t have been gone more than 5 minutes, but it felt a lot longer. The younger man was white with blood-loss, the screaming had stopped, but it was obvious that pain had not. Aramis now lent heavily on Porthos, completely limp, whimpering and, most worryingly, barely breathing.

Athos watched as Merlin, knelt down in front of their ailing friend. “ lean him forward slightly,” Merlin said and Porthos and Athos took a side each and gently. Aramis’s head lolled, barely conscious, between them. 

“Leohtbora,” Merlin whispered. A few sparks edited from his palm before fully formed flames burst into life. The brass bowl in his had begun to smoke, creating an odd chard and leafy smell to plume out of the bowl of mixed kitchen ingredients. Porthos eyes, despite the situation, light up slightly at witnessing real magic. “ He needs to breathe in as much of this as possible,” Merlin passed the still quite hot bowl to Athos, then disappeared into the kitchen again. 

Athos pushed the bowl underneath Aramis’s hunched over body, “ Deep breath Aramis, come on.”

Aramis didn’t seem to hear, still barely breathing. Porthos lifted his head so their eyes met. Only Aramis’s eyes seemed to swim in his eye sockets, with every small movement they swayed back and forth. 

“ Breath Aramis,” Porthos voice was laced with a panicked urgency.

Aramis sucked in a grating breathe, it was hardly a lung full but it was enough. Athos could visible see the strange smoke entering his mouth and nose.

“ That's it ‘Mis, keep doing that,” Porthos said as he shifted Aramis weigh back over the bowl.

Aramis next breath was more, fuller and they could all hear how less painful it was, less grating against his ribs, less of a vacuum to fight against. With the added oxygen to Aramis bloodstream, his tense muscles began to relax, slowly with each breath fuller and fuller, they became liquid under Porthos’s hands. 

They shifted Aramis till his head rested on Porthos’s shoulder, body still angled in a way that the smoke could enter his body. Not 3 minutes later, Merlin came slugging back, eyes filled with less concern and seemed pleased with whatever the smoke had done to their friend. Aramis, if the blood wasn’t there, would just look drowsy, tired from a long days work. Eyes blinking slowly with the need to rest.

“ Is he good now? What was happening to him?” Porthos asked, his voice becoming slurred at the end, still suffering from his concussion. 

“ He should be fine,” Merlin moved closer and opened one of Aramis’s eyes wider, “ The haemorrhaging has stopped and his brain should be on its way to healing.”

“ What! He was having a brain haemorrhaging!” Porthos shouted, shifting slightly nudging a groan out of the Spaniard. Porthos instantly tightened his grip on his best-friend protectively. “ You can heal that sort of thing?”

“ I'm not a miracle worker my big friend, but a magically induced ailment can always be fixed with the right spell, its a handy weakness in times like these. We were lucky, Morgana only showed her shadow, if she was here in full force,” The wizard moved and stood over their youngest and with a few muttering words d’Artagnan began to moan into consciousness, “there would likely be much more damage and a few more bodies.” Merlin said as he inspected the damage around the apartment, before making his way over to Leon still very much with a caved in head. 

Athos and Porthos shared a look, then Porthos nodded once.“ What do you mean shadow,” Athos asked making his way to a struggling d’Artagnan. Helping the younger man to stand and find a seat before gravity forced his weak legs to collapse on him. 

“ A projection, nothing more, a slither of her power to create an image that can manipulate the energy around it. It’s quite difficult to direct the energy’s direction though, hence the mess of your apartment. Not something that can cause major bodily harm, unless nocked on the head the right way” Merlin said, pointedly looking at Leon sprawled out on the carpet, adding to the stains. 

“ No harm, Aramis almost died!” Athos stood over d’Artagnan abandoning his task of checking is head in favour of succumbing to his emotions. They had been bubbling up for far too long and needed an outlet.

“ Yes well, Aramis likes being special doesn’t he,” Merlin shook his head, “he has a weak energy connecting to Morgana, weak but enough to direct her power, he was the only one she could truly, intentionally hurt.” Merlin moved back over to Aramis and placed two fingers gently to his temple. Aramis imminently closed his eyes and whole body going lax in Porthos’s hold.

“ Don't, he.. he gets nightmares.” As if those few word explained Porthos panicked and slightly guilty expression.

“ I know. Don’t worry, he will have a peaceful nights sleep. No bodies to climb over or darkness to battle.” Merlin said as he stroked his finger through Aramis tangled and slightly bloody hair. The man in question had such a peaceful look about him, one Porthos hadn’t seen in what felt a long time, too long. He didn’t question Merlin’s obvious knowledge of things neither Porthos, Athos or d’Artagnan knew, now that Aramis was no longer in danger, Porthos found himself drifting off to the same land as Aramis. The conversation and answers could wait just a few more hours.

-

Athos, being the only able-bodied member, with the help of Merlin moved Aramis to his room and Leon back to the bloodstained couch and handed out ice packs for very sore heads. 

Eventually, everyone filtered off to different rooms, all wanting to leave the smashed up lounge, bloodied and broken, not to be touched till they had all slept and maybe had a firm chat with Aramis about the problems he was avoiding when he woke. Then, when the inseparables where less separate and they felt whole, then they would tackle the mess of the apartment and the mess that had become their lives. They had lost this battle, they couldn’t afford to lose the next one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chap probably has a lot of mistakes, so please let me know of the major ones 
> 
> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.


	22. There is Always More.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo straight up, sorry. Sorry, it took soooooooo long for this chapter to get up. So honestly I didn't do anything for a week, then I almost finished, I had one little convo to go and then I cut my hand open. Fun times a nice trip to the hospital and a few stitches later. So that happened on Wednesday and so today during my Bio class I got my friend to type for me and that brings us up to today where I'm posting...... Finally.
> 
> Without further ado .........

Porthos stood with his back against the wall. Just around the corner Leon and Merlin whispered. Muttering between them. Porthos knew he was ease dropping, he knew he shouldn’t. But he had picked up a few words that had perked up Porthos’s ears. Words like ‘Aramis’ and ‘danger’ being used in the same sentence. So he stood and listened. 

“ Just stay till Aramis wake’s, Merlin,”

“ I can’t, I must find her before she makes another appearance. Just stay and make sure he wakes up himself,” Merlin sounded exhausted for an immortal wizard. Tired and strained. 

“ And what if he doesn’t,” Leon snapped. 

“ He wouldn’t want his friends hurt. Don’t make me say it, but you know what he would what you to do,” Merlin reasoned.

“ Don’t make me do something like that and talk about it so casually, like.. like it’s some sort of necessary thing. Its not you who has to do it, “ Leon whispered harsher, practically spitting the words through his clenched teeth. 

Shuffling was heard till the front door slammed shut. Leon still in the open raked lounge sighed loudly. Porthos moved away before Leon rounded the corner. 

-

The inseparables had slowly gained a silent routine based on cleaning the shattered apartment and rotating who kept an eye on Aramis’s sleeping form in his bed down the hall. The apartment’s lounge, the greeting and most used room in the living space of Aramis and Porthos was a complete disaster. None of the furniture was salvageable, except, against all odds, Athos chair sat lonely and untouched by the chaos that surrounded it. 

Porthos tried not to think while he swept the broken furniture into a pile in the corner. The couch and larger chunks of wood sat out in the hall, ready for the garbage truck the next day. Someone he was not sure who, had placed a sheet over the blood stain against the wall and the bloodied couch cushion had already been removed.

Porthos swept, it was a methodic task, one that didn’t require his 100% focus and attention, but he gladly gave it his mind. It meant he didn’t have to think, think about the chaos his apartment seemed to represent. His life, just like his apartment and the shattered, stained furniture, it to felt broken and began to wonder if he could patch up all the cracks and tape it back to gather with little more then duck-tape. 

So he swept, so he did not need to think, did not need to ponder on the way things had fallen apart in a matter of days. And he, practically a bystander to his two closed friend demise, didn’t know how to face a battle he knew nothing of. Secrets that Porthos had valiantly protected with his own ignorance, had become their enemy, ever more deadly than the necromancer snapping at their heals. The secrets were slowly destroying them from the inside out. Porthos would NOT let them win, he would drag them out of Aramis and the rest of the story out of Athos till there was nothing left to hide. He knew that his brothers did not want these things aired, but Porthos had had enough and was about done with protecting things he didn’t understand, but desperately wanted to. 

d’Artagnan rounded the corner, stopping Porthos with his methodic sweeping. “ I think Aramis is starting to wake up,” He said before darting back to Aramis’s room down the hall.

-

They all watched as Aramis groaned and eye fluttered. They all watched as if something groundbreaking was about to happen. The Spaniard turned his head to bury in the soft, feather pillow underneath his head and whimpered, being the only thing that told his audience that he was waking and not trapped in a nightmare.   
Porthos leaned over and began tapping on Aramis’s cheek and calling his name. Aramis groaned and began opening his eyes. 

“ Wha…?” The half asleep man asked.

“ Come on ‘Mis, Wake up,” Porthos said as he pulled Aramis up so he was resting against the few pillows. 

Aramis more awake now, gave his best-friend a glare, clearly not happy with the manhandling. He tried to push himself up a little, but the movement seemed to bring his headache back to reality. It bounced around his skull, threatening to crack the bone from within. Aramis leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands. After a few moments, that stretched out impossibly long for the ailing man, Aramis felt a large hand against his shoulder. The warms seeped through his loose shirt and flared against his skin, he subconsciously leaned into the touch, embracing the physical contact that always calmed him, that he was always welcomed to before. Then it hit him, Porthos was there, and suddenly he was hyper-aware on the three other bodies in the room, all silent for his heads benefit.

Then it hit him.

They were waiting.

Waiting for him.

Waiting for secrets and lies that would shock them. 

And suddenly the warmth of Porthos’s hand wasn’t as comforting as it was before. And the room felt smaller and the people surrounding him were no longer in a comforting silence, but rather judging and expecting things he could not deliver. They became sort of large daunting thing he couldn’t escape from. 

He steeled himself and peeled his hands from his face, looking at the people that surrounded him. His brother where scattered across the room, d’Artagnan sitting on the edge of the bed, Athos leaning against the double doors that held all of Aramis’s clothes, Porthos beside him - Aramis didn’t need to turn his head to know he was there- And lastly Leon stood across from him, with his back against the wall, looking relaxed but at the same time on edge. Aramis gave him a small of a nod as his headache would allow. Letting his longtime friend know he was okay.

“ Hey Aramis, how.. how are you feeling,” d’Artagnan asked, worry lite his eyes. Clearly, the youngest of their little group was suffering from his own headache from the way he squinted his eyes and how his head sat heavily on his shoulders. 

Aramis gave him a weak smile in lieu of any comforting words he that didn’t have to offer. “ What happened?” He asked with a croaky voice. 

“ Ann… Milady, tore up the living room and gave you a brain haemorrhaging. That's it in short,” Athos said, still leaning against Aramis’s cupboard, face grim. He seemed to have drifted out of Aramis’s reach, retreating into himself. and the Spaniard wouldn’t be surprised to find his breath rich with liquor. 

It was only when Porthos handed him a glass of water, did Aramis meet his eyes. He saw hurt there but also determination and he quickly looked away, fearing what Porthos would find in his own pools of dark brown. 

“ We also know that she’s after Athos… ish,” d’Artagnan said

“Ish?” Aramis said between sips, very wary of the way his stomach rolled every now and again.

“ Well,” d’Artagnan looked around the room as if someone would finish for him. When all he received was a few expecting looks he continued, “ She wants to hurt him, I guess… And punish him?” The kid's voice rose at the end, telling everyone of how unsure he was to be saying anything against the there appointed leader. “ Like some sort of twisted vendetta. Like she’s lost her mind on it,” 

“ The kid has a point.…” Leon spoke quietly, but with a confidence breed from his personal knowledge of the topic.

“ I'm not a kid,” d’Artagnan interrupted. 

Leon continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “ She wasn’t exactly organised and it didn’t seem like she had a plan, like she turned up not expecting anyone to be home and when we were here, she got caught up in getting back at you,” Leon gestured to Athos, where the blue-eyed man continued to stare at the floor as if he hadn’t heard. 

“ That's good, isn’t it? We could use that against her,” d’Artagnan exclaimed a little excitedly for someone with a small concussion. 

“ But know she knows your weaknesses,” Leon pushed himself off of the wall, standing straighter. Porthos gave Leon a confused look, so he continued, “ You lot are each other's weaknesses, and she’s no idiot, next time she’ll have a plan, the only thing we have now is a small amount of time for her to act and for us to prepare,” 

There was a moment of silence between the five men, each coming to their own acceptance of the war they had unwillingly entered, of the life-changing event that would be taking place soon and suddenly the normalcy of everyday life became a novelty, something valuable that before was just life, but now it was threatened and none of them where truly ready to protected it.

“ Talking about preparing,” Porthos starts and Aramis can feel the attention turn to him and his aching head, “ Aramis you need to fill us in because we’re drowning here. And these things you feel you need to keep secret, there killing us.”

“Fine,” Aramis snapped harder than intended, “fine. Just…. Just give me a minute,” Aramis spoke quietly.

Another strained silence, the lull hung heavy in the air, a stagnant and tangible ball of tension that Aramis wouldn’t risk defusing in fear of the damage it could bring if he did it wrong. Aramis opened his mouth to start, finding no words flowed easily from his charming tongue. He couldn’t rely on charm or elaborate facades here, he had been stripped raw over the last few days, and the scars were showing, white and puffy against his tan skin, too much of contrast to ignoring any further. Aramis took a bigger breather and scanned the crowd that had gathered to hear his cowardice and betrayal and only finding innocent curiosity and attentiveness. 

“ Maybe this would be easier if there was a smaller audience,” Leon's voice cut the threatening air so cleanly it made Aramis sigh with relief at the suggestion.

As if on the same wavelength, Athos bounced off of the wall and walked to the door without a word, patting d’Artagnan’s shoulder, was as a cue to follow suit, while Porthos sat patiently, gaze not faltering from its subject: Aramis.

Leon stayed a referee to the possible match that could take place. Porthos only glanced at the blond man once before accepting that the man would not be leaving. Aramis, on the other hand, was insanely thankful for his presence. With Leon there, knowing what Aramis was about to confess to, Aramis felt like he had a chance that this would go smoothly.

Once they where alone the pair, bar Leon; their silent watcher, of best-friends finally made eye contact. Worried swirled in Porthos’s eyes, while Aramis worried himself of what his own eyes showed. 

“ You really don’t want to tell me to do you” I wasn’t a question. Porthos leaned forward and ran his hands over his face, clearly upset by the current event and the stress was obviously getting to him, just like them all. Porthos gently picked up Aramis’s limp hand, no pretest at all form the Spaniard, and held in it one of his larger ones.

 

“ ‘Mis, please,” He whispered, head bowed. Face hidden by shadows thrown from the curtained window. He stroked a heavy thumb in a small circle on the back of Aramis’s limp hand, completely at the mercy of the larger mans hands, completely submissive and none of his usual vigour and spite that his used to hold with high standard

“Okay. So….” Aramis took a deep breath and let it escape with small unconscious stutters formed from his nerves. “ So remember when I told you Morg - Milady was very manipulative and powerful and… and that I didn’t really know what happened because I wasn’t there.” Aramis paused, confused himself with where this was going. “ I never pretend to be someone else, I promise, I need you to know that. I'm me, I'm Aramis and no-one else. No matter how many names iv got, I’m just Aramis now” He rushed out 

“ I did something stupid to save a friend and I thought that would be it, but, but it just made everything so much worse. She’s powerful enough or at least she was back then, to make shades. Do… do you know what that is ?”

Porthos caught Aramis eyes with a confused stare be for opening his mouth.“ Their also called shards, their like half-souls, controlled by their makers and a shell of the person before. It is a mercy to kill them as soon as their created,” Aramis pulled his hand out of the larger man's grip, “an abomination created for manipulation. Any humanity is long gone,” Porthos said the last part in a hushed, sad whisper like it was something that just was a sad reality like there was no exceptions and no chances. 

Porthos dipped his head to catch Aramis’s eyes, but the Spaniard avoided his stare. The was a pause where Porthos expected Aramis to continue, and where Aramis waited from the puzzle to fit in to place in Porthos’s head

“ I don’t see how this has to do with anything, ‘Mis” Aramis’s shoulders hunched with every one of Porthos’s words.

That's when Aramis met his best-friend eyes, they glossed with unshed tears strained from having to share things he was ashamed and frightened of. Aramis could pinpoint the exact moment the puzzle piece clicked into place. His eyes widened only a bit, his mouth just open enough for the Spaniard to see the tip of his tongue caught between white teeth. 

Aramis doesn't know how long they where frozen like that, though he knows it couldn’t be for more than a few stranded seconds. 

Porthos broke first, moving to stare unblinkingly at his hands, Silence only pierced by the three men's breathing, Aramis’s own, controlled but lacked a steady rhythm, and Aramis felt his world start to silently crumble. 

“ I knew Aramis before,” Porthos jumped slightly at Leon’s words, “he’s not manipulating anyone or trying to be the man he was before. He’s Aramis now and only Aramis.” 

Porthos looked to the immortal man, with something Aramis could only name with desperation and hope, like Loen would tell him that none of this was real and just because it was the preferred reality, Porthos would will himself believe it. 

“ But….” Porthos’s voice was high pitched, such a contrast to his normal gruff voice. “ That means you died.” His eyes still wide and voice gone small.

Aramis didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. 

“ Was….was this after Iraq, is that why you didn’t contact me when you got out?” 

“It was before you knew me, before everything,” Aramis mumbled. 

“ What do you mean by ‘made it worse’?”

“ I keep coming back, every time I die, I just keep coming back. Four times now,” Aramis hung his head.

“ What? Like four lifetimes, you’ve lived four lifetimes?” Porthos sounded shocked and panicked.

“ No, no. I never lasted very long, I’m very good at putting myself in situations where I end up dead,” Aramis tried a bit of humour. But it fell flat, completely missed on the larger man.Porthos put his head in his hands and looked ready to explode, and Aramis expected him to, expect anger and hatred, after all, isn’t that what he deserved?

There was silence again, the same damned silence that seemed so threatening. 

“ You… you ermm haven't eaten anything in ages, I’m ….. I’m gonna go get you something,” Porthos said rushed, obviously trying to get out of the bedroom and away from Aramis. 

Aramis didn’t watch him as he got up and left with a click of the door, he couldn’t watch as his best-friend left him. Leon walked over and placed a conforming hand on his shoulder, “ It could have gone worse,”

After a moment “ Yer,” Aramis breathed out, “ I could have gone worse,” It didn’t sound like he believed it. Aramis didn’t watch Leon leave the bedroom either.

 

-

 

Aramis was sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to sum up the courage to put his feet on the soft carpet. Willing his head to cooperate with the ligaments and tendons in his calves and thighs. But his head was still unnaturally heavy and made the walls swing back and forth if he moved too fast.

Aramis looked up at the squeak of the bedroom door. He had expected Porthos coming back in with a meal and then to probably be told off about not resting properly or just shunned like he deserved. He hadn't expected Athos to enter, with an ever impassive look on his face that made Aramis heart drop even further into his chest. He wasn't ready to face him yet, another person he had betrayed. Worse, Aramis had known his wife long before Athos had. Aramis was too connected, and it was too personal, there was no way Athos would be able to ignore that.

After a strained second of both men staring at each other, Aramis broke first, bowing his head. Once he was looking down at his own lap he couldn't seem to be able to lift it again. 

“ Athos, listen…”

“ Aramis…” Athos interrupted with a small voice.

“ I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Im.. I.” And suddenly Aramis couldn't get enough air into his lungs, past the tears running down his cheeks. Athos waited patiently, as he all ways did. No judgement, to impatiens, just the understanding that Athos always held with his presence.

“ I.. I Didn't know that she got married, I promise I haven't seen her for years. I'm not on her side, I'm really not.” Aramis’s whole body shook with anxiety. The truth was out, he had betrayed them all, he couldn't even look Athos in the eye. 

He froze when arms encircled him, cold hand pulled him forward till his tears stained Athos’s grey shirt darker. “I'm sorry, I really didn't know, I promise.” He mumbled almost incoherently into the fabric covering warm skin.

“ I know Aramis, I know you didn't know. I know you're not on her side, okay,” Athos said as he pulled back, Aramis imminently missed the warmth, using his two palms, making Aramis look at him, he wiped away the tears. “ She fucked up your life just as much as mine.”

Aramis gave a hiccuped snort. 

“And When we find her, you can at least get a few shots in.” 

Aramis’s hiccups turned to childish giggles. 

Athos’s hands moved to Aramis’s forearms, finger wrapping around the clothed flesh, holding him as they cried and laughed together. 

Aramis winced when Athos’s nails dug in a little sharper than before. Athos quickly removed his hands, face sobering faster then a cold bucket of water could ever do. Athos quickly moved to pull up Aramis’s sleeves, Aramis pulled his arms back against his chest as if to hide them.

With a stern glare from the blue-eyed man, Aramis surrendered his arms with no fuss, too exhausted to protest and too guilty to disobey.

Athos rolled up his sleeves carefully, mindful that his touch could hurt him further. It was only then that Aramis realised he was wearing one of Porthos’s jumpers, large and sagging on the sleeves and underneath that, a long-sleeved t-shirt, that he had worn since he had stormed out of the Apartment today's prier. Suddenly very aware of his own personal hygiene, Aramis craved a shower. 

The Spaniard hissed when Athos pulled up the sleeves of the much tighter t-shirt. Underneath was scabbed skin, patchy and worse on the inner side of both of Aramis’s arms. The worst to bad, they looked slightly singed from being too close to something too hot and what have been completely manageable had they not cover the entity of the inside of both arms, where the flesh was more sensitive and less weathered by everyday life. Each arm was decorated with little crescent moons in sets of four and a few larger scrapes that looked rawer than the other marks. Nothing too bad, just painful now they were in the front of his conciseness. 

“ How did you do this,” Athos demanded, shaking the offended arm slightly. 

Aramis didn’t know what to tell him. At first, he had been confused by the small wounds, but then he remembered the fear and the dredge. He visibly shook when he remembered the nightmare and flooding to the shower to come back to reality. 

“ The shower was hotter then I thought,” Aramis muttered quietly. 

“ The shower ?” Athos said a little dumbfounded. He let go of Aramis’s wrists and wrapped his arms around him, “ Jesus Aramis, I can't let you do anything by your self, can I ?”

Aramis’s huffs out an expected laugh, though he didn’t really feel the humour at the moment, still shocked by the forgiveness Athos was offering. 

Athos probed a finger into his rib, Aramis yelped slightly and backed out of the odd hug Athos and he had created. “ Too skinny as well,” Athos muttered. 

Aramis completely done with the attention, leaned forward slightly till his head his Athos’s chest again, he rested it there. Tired and stressed, he could have easily slept sitting up if the stoic man would stay. Athos ever one to silently please, encircled his arms around him again, one hand coming to rest on his tangled hair, he stayed there in the silent embrace, hoping the acceptance he had found wasn’t something fleeting and ephemeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So chapters will be up whenever as the next four weeks will be the busiest time of my life.But I will never put this on hold or stop. So you might just have to wait for a bit longer. Sorry.
> 
> Any mistakes let me know.


	23. Finally a Musketeer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hadn't planned this chapter, it just sort of happened over the last two days.
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon, as it is already written.

\- one week later -

 

d’Artagnan was merry, a mix of joy and being a little too tipsy. It was his graduation ceremony, or rather the after party of the formal event. His six-month recruitment stage had past and now, a fully fledged member of the SIU, he suddenly felt a lot older, braver. He blamed the mix of liquid courage and a small dose of real courage for his silly grin. He knew he looked stupid with it placed across his face, but he simply couldn’t help it. He had danced with Constance, he had twisted across the dance floor still in his suit from the formal badge ceremony and Constance had worn a light blue long dress and as soon as young d’Artagnan had seen her, he was suddenly a schoolboy having his first crush all over again.

He now leaned on the back wall and watched Constance chatting with a few other scientists that worked in the lad with her. Still with the giddy smile on his face.

And better yet, Constance had had a smile on he face that light up her skin and made her eyes sparkle. She had smiled at him, him. Even with the threat of Milady luring over their heads, nothing could have ruined this night.

He scanned the room, looking for his friends, d’Artagnan’s smile faltered when he sore the only this that could have put a damper on his special night. 

Aramis sat alone on one of the tables near the back, each table was lined with a white tablecloth and placements for all who had been invited, ( Judging by the amount of people here, everyone who had ever entered the Garrison). Of cause, all of the inseparables had been placed together, but it only seemed to put more strain on the already very strained relationship between Aramis and Porthos.

They hadn’t fought per say, but they hadn’t talked either. Porthos had filled them in on Aramis being a shade, shocked as he was at the time, he hadn’t really cared. Aramis was still Aramis, sure he hid something from them but d’Artagnan could see why he did.

Porthos had been more shocked then angry and even as the big man had filled him in about what a shade actually was and all it entailed, he still sounded more disappointed and betrayed then scared, like he kept saying they should be. 

It was clear to see that Porthos didn’t hate Aramis, d’Artagnan could never picture a world where he did, but he was angry for the betrayal he felt and just plain sad for the reality of his best-friends situation, for his history. So the big man hadn’t really spoken to the Spaniard since like if he avoided it long enough everything would go back to normal. Aramis didn’t help the matter either, opting for Athos’s couch rather than his own bed. And now, their resident sharpshooter sat alone swirling his Champaign with dark smudges under his eyes and his legendary, pearly white smile nowhere to be seen.

At the beginning of the night, he had tasked himself with watching how much Aramis was drinking. The man was miserable and lonely and d’Artagnan had seen Athos drink uncontrollably for the same reasons. But Constance had caught his eye and he had no idea how many glasses the waiter had given and cleared from the table. 

d’Artagnan tore his eyes from the miserable man and searched the decorated hall for his other friends. He found them together, talking in earnest, Athos looking angry and Porthos defiant. He sighed before heading over to join them.

“This is ridiculous Porthos, go talk to him,” d’Artagnan heard from Athos as he approached. 

Porthos paused and both men looked up when d’Artagnan stopped in front of them both. For a brief second the youngest thought his presence wasn't wanted. But Porthos carried on, not minding if d’Artagnan overheard them. 

“ I just don’t want to, stop pestering me,”   
Athos raised his eyebrows in a way that shouldn’t be so intimidating, “That's a lie and we all know it,” Porthos looked ready to protest but Athos beat him to it, “ Why else do you text me hourly when he stays on my couch?”

Porthos looked to d’Artagnan for help, but their youngest was in no way offering. He most definitely wanted the two to patch it up. The constant strain that hung in the air was starting to worm its way into Athos’s head and they could all tell. Athos was more then grumpy lately, even if he was trying to remain stoic for d’Artagnan’s big day. And by the looks of it and this conversation, Athos had had enough. 

“ Are you completely blocking him? Because I can barely get a glass of water in my house now without passing the couch and getting depressed,” Athos tried to catch Porthos’s evading eyes. 

“ I just….” 

“ Just what?”

There was a pause, a stare down between the two most strong-willed people d’Artagnan knew. But no-one can last Athos and his piercing blue eyes, Porthos was doomed the moment he had started this battle. 

Porthos looked down, admitting defeat, he marched across the hall to where Aramis sat alone. 

d’Artagnan shifted till he lent against the back wall, next to Athos. “ Do you think they’ll work it out?” He asked.

“ I bloody hope so, I can't stand Aramis’s need for heat and my electricity bill is going to be huge.”

The both silently looked to the two best friends, their view was obscured by the crowd that swayed to the music in the dimmed lights. The night was falling and making the formal event shift to one smelling more of alcohol and the clash of colours flashing overhead lights. 

“ Sorry,” Athos said quietly and completely unlike himself it shocked d’Artagnan for a minute.

“ What?” He asked, not quite leaving him ears.

“ I just meant they….. we have put a bit of a downer on your night,” Athos said as he sipped from his own fancy glass.

“ You shouldn’t be sorry about that, it was never going to be perfect with Milady hanging above our heads,”

Athos just hummed in response.

‘ I mean, are we just meant to wait for her, it seems ridiculous,”

Athos sighed like he had gone over this a hundred times, “ We are going about our lives like normal. We have no idea where she is or what she has planned, but we are expecting the unexpected and thus pretend everything is fine,” 

d’Artagnan shuddered slightly at the thought of being watched. He hated the waiting, but he also knew he was impatient and need to focus on Athos’s plan. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Athos to make a plan that worked, he along with the others would follow their de-facto leader anywhere. It was just that he hated the waiting, the anticipation. The need to act just kept growing.

He looked over to Porthos and Aramis across from them. Porthos had sat two chairs away from the Spaniard they looked like they were talking, but it also looked like the nether man was saying what they mean. d’Artagnan just hoped they would sort it out before Milady decided to act, or else it could cost them all.

-

Porthos sat only two seats away from his best friend, but still, it seemed to make all the difference. He was so used to being side by side with the other man, the simple few feet of distance physically hurt. But still he couldn’t bring himself to cross the obvious distance, it would mean Aramis was forgiven and he wasn’t ready for that yet.

He wasn’t angry, he just needed space, or at least that is was he told himself. Needed time to process what he now knew; that his friend wasn’t human, wasn’t whole, had been on the bad side. He didn’t want it to be true, so he kept his distance and just sort of hoped that things would sort themselves out.

It was clear now that that wasn’t going to happen. 

And now that Athos had had enough, they had to call the stalemate off. Or rather Porthos had to break the distance between them. He had to put the effort it because he couldn’t accept anything from Aramis right now, and ‘Mis wouldn’t risk the rejection if he tried. 

He looked to Aramis now, the younger man he glanced at him a few times but did risk talking. Porthos tilted his head to catch his eye, but Aramis had spent a lifetime avoiding people, evading questions. He looked completely miserable and slightly tipsy. Porthos looked across to the white table set, amongst the sparse plates an flowers was a small collection of tall glasses. 

“ How much have you drunk, ‘Mis,”

Aramis didn’t look up but he did shrug half-heartedly. It only confirmed that Aramis was well on his way to being drunk. Porthos knew, like a best-friend would, that Aramis didn’t drink much and was a complete lightweight.

“ ‘Mis….?”

“ Do you hate me?” He asked in a rawness that showed his honesty in the question. He sounded petulant and childish, but not in the way when he wanted something, he just souped sad.

Porthos could help but smile at that, “ I could never hate you,”

“Then why don’t you talk to me anymore?” He still didn’t look up but downed the rest of his glass. And Porthos really didn’t have anything to say, stumped with his own stupidity, he didn’t really have a reason, it just sort of happened.

A waiter passed by and Aramis signalled them to pass him another drink. Porthos stood and crossed the short distance quickly, “ He’s had enough,” He told the waiter. The larger man knelt down next to his friend and finally caught his eyes. Dark pools, rimmed with red from obvious crying and a little too much alcohol.

“Why’d you do that?” His question was slurred. 

“ Because you've had enough, mate,” Porthos placed one of his large hands on the back of Aramis’s neck. The Spaniard leaned forwards till his forehead rested on Porthos’s shoulder.

“Please don’t leave me,” Aramis sniffled.

“ Of cause not,” Porthos said as he lifted Aramis’s head back up and wiped away the few drops that had ran down his cheeks. 

And in an instant they were hugging, Porthos’s big arms keeping the unsteady man from toppling over. And just like that Aramis was forgiven, like Porthos knew he would be if he got close enough. Relief flooded him and he had his best-friend back. Porthos still didn’t know why they didn’t do this earlier, but it was done now, in a crowded function and one is drunk.

Porthos pulled Aramis to his feet, where the man stumbled forwards till he crashed into Porthos’s strong chest. “ Come on ‘Mis,”

“ Wha..?” Aramis tried to say and Porthos dragged him closer to the dance floor. 

Porthos stopped when they were just on the edge of the crowd as a slow song started playing overhead. Aramis didn’t look pleased with the prospect of dancing, even if he knew the younger man was usually one of the first on the floor. He honestly had no shame in something like dancing in public.

It wasn’t the first time they had danced together like this. Aramis had taught Porthos himself years ago, and still especially at work fountains like this, they often found each other on the dance floor.

“Why?” Aramis asked as Porthos took his right hand in his left.

“ Because dancing makes people happy,” Porthos said as he took the first few steps in the sequence. 

It took awhile, partly due to Aramis not having any coordination at the time. But eventually Aramis got into the flow of the slow speed Porthos had set, it took longer for a small smile to find perches on his mouth. And eventually, they were surrounded due couples doing the same thing. Aramis would be sleeping in his own bed tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ship them soooo badly.
> 
> Thanks for the comments and reading.
> 
> Any major mistakes let me know.  
> Thanks.


	24. Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so WARNING for this chapter. I really don't want to spoil it so the warnings will be in the end notes.
> 
> So first I must say...  
> This is the first chapter I wrote for this. I start an independent chapter but then I couldn't leave it how it ended so I made this entire universe so I could do something about how this chapter ends. I hope I didn't spoil it too much for you.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

It was snowy and cold, but the inseparables had made amens or at least had snatched up their relationship with each other, still if it was a bit strained, no-one mentioned it. And all appeared well, they had all settled back into the mundaneness of work and had even gone to the bar the night before, like they used to months ago, before all of this mess. The chaos had calmed, but even the calm had appeared threatening and all members felt its presence. A sort of bloody unworthy peace, the kind that came after wars, but only this time it was before. The calm before the storm. 

3 days later -

The four men walked across the park, aiming for the restaurant on the other side, one that served as Aramis called it, ‘the best hot chocolate the world could offer’. The snow had made the walk eerie and the trees, snow-dusted as they were seem daunting. They all talked lightly between each other to distract them selves.

No-one saw the knife, no one was looking for a sharp piece of metal on a lowly civilian, why would they. Morgana or rather Milady had quieted down after her little show at the apartment. Whatever had hurt Aramis had stopped giving him migraine and despite the sudden lack of assaults from their enemy - which should of been worrisome - the Inseparables had found a calmness. Though it had been said the calm be for the storm and yes it did feel like that, a threatened peace. But maybe she had given up, maybe Merlin had scared her off. It was wishful thinking and they all knew it. But still they relaxed just a little, allowing the calm to come over them as they knew it might be the last they get it a while. It had been a painfully long week and a half, since the ‘event’, since it was out that Aramis knew a lot more then he was letting on and suddenly all their secrets they were harbouring were being threatened and rightly so. It had been a week and a half filled with revelations, breakups and patch-ups and they where left in the aftermath still interacted if not a little worse for ware. 

laughter was being shared and after such a hard, bloodied week and a half, they needed it. The lone figure in a grey hoodie was paid with no attention as it barged its way through the four men. Once the figure was gone, past them all, Aramis suddenly stopped, a spark of recognition went through him, a familiarity that he had never in this life, but in another, that is another matter. d’Artagnan, Athos and Porthos didn't holt like Aramis had done, they continued to talk and walk. It was only when Porthos had aimed a friendly insult at his best friend that he noticed the other man had stopped and turned to eye the hooded figure as it melting slowly, peacefully into the distance.

Porthos had stopped when he noticed their missing brother, causing the other two to still their banter and turn to their wayward friend still eyeing the figure’s distant back. Porthos heard it then, the sound of laboured breathing as if the person was panicking or choking back sobs, they were shaky and stressed, and they were coming from Aramis. 

“Aramis?” Pathos questioned, his earlier merriment quickly turning into worried curiosity.

“ Wha.. ?” Aramis said as he slid his head back around to his friend, knocked out of his odd shock caused by the allusive figure. Aramis looked pale, his soft brown eye wide, Porthos couldn't help see the frightened boy underneath the brave solider.

Athos eyes, when he turned to his dear friend didn't find the shock on his face that Porthos had, his eyes where immediately went to the bright splash of colour now growing on Aramis’s jumper. Dark red blossomed there, ‘too dark' was all he could think, ‘it hadn't been there a moment ago.’

D’Artagnan was first to act running past Aramis, trusting his brothers to look after him, and raced after the hooded figure that had already disappeared into the mist. 

Aramis still wide-eyed, eyebrows raised in question, slowly followed Athos’s gaze. His lungs sucked in at the shock of seeing his bloodied stomach, he hadn't felt anything. Athos realised the younger man was in shock, paralysing his nerves and muscles. Aramis slowly touched the stain with his finger tips, as if disgusted of the possibility that the stain was never going to come out. Realisation hit like a bulldozer, hard and fast and his legs buckled. 

Porthos was the one to act first. A surprisingly graceful lunge forward stopping Aramis’s decent to the snowy ground. He gently lowed Aramis down to the cold earth, his breathing more erratic and uneven than before, face whiter than the snow he now laid on.

“ Its snowing” Aramis muttered, looking around him as if the perpetrator was still within his grasp. 

The blood quickly seeped through Aramis’s jumper, contaminating the white purity of the snow around them.

“ Shit, Shit, Shit.” Porthos started to recite, as he tore his flannel off with brute force, not willing to take time with the buttons. He pressed it firmly onto of the growing, darkening stain on Aramis’s torsos.

“The ambulance is on its way.” Athos said while settling on Aramis’s other side, growing paler as his eyes darted from the wound to Aramis’s face then back again. Aramis didn't really remember how he got to the ground nor when Athos had made a call.

Aramis had never seen Athos’s face this animated, this scared in his life. He gulped realising that Athos was probable connecting to his emotions right now. The urgency of the situation, knocking those mental barriers -he had so painstakingly built over the years for his empathy- clean out the window. Athos was mirroring his emotions, he was afraid.

“ Athos, its, its bleeding too much, I cant stop it, I cant stop the bleeding.” Porthos’s voice cracked with the shear knowledge that Aramis was literally bleeding out underneath his hands. 

Aramis wasn't paying them much attention anymore, their voices had become distant. His eyes followed the snowflakes that drifted down peacefully, joining the others where they lay, cushioning Aramis from the hard dirt beneath the cold layer of fluffy ice. Aramis was reminded of how individual they each were slowly drifting through there short beautiful life, one never like another, alone in their folly. If only they looked down they would see that they will soon rest atop the bodies of their family bellow. Aramis couldn't help relate it to his own adventures of cold and death. Our lives begin with falling and soon we will all be buried on top of are kin. Alway in the blasted cold, in the snow.

“ Its snowing”. he muttered again, the words seemed to cement in his chest, the meaning of them like a rock atop his lungs. A scene from long away played in front of his eyes, briefly distracting him from the present 

“ Its snowing”. he spoke again, this time louder, he needed them to listen. This was his last chance, he NEEDED them to just listen before the cold took him.

He tried to sit up, pain forgot with the urgency, that they just need to listen. Athos stopped him with a firm hand on his chest, just above his heart. Athos could feel how erratic his heart was beating.

“ Woah Woah. Hey calm down, okay?” his voice shaky, “ The ambulance is on its way, okay, everything in is going to be okay.” His head bobbing up and down, and he smiled, though the tears filling his eyes betrayed the rare curve of his lips. Aramis wondered if it took him having a hole in his stomach to get him to smile more often and if he would ever use the word ‘okay’ so much in one sentence ever again. He would of inquirer just that and Porthos would have laughed. But it was snowing and he knew he didn't have the time, the cold would have him soon and he couldn't fight back against something so powerful, something so bound to him. It owned him and he knew it. It had claimed him in Savoy and it would clam him now.

Aramis griped Athos’s arm tight, he needed his attention, he lifted himself up only slightly, as far as Athos would allow.  
“ A-Athos, Athos listen to me”, his voice was harsh, “ Athos, this is really important you HAVE to listen.”

“Hey hey, I'm right here, okay, I'm listening”. He burst out, cupping Aramis’s cheeks with both hands, looking directly into his eyes. Aramis was very thankful for this, he had begun to have trouble holding his head up. He knew Athos could feel his urgency through his empath ability, it finally working in their favour.

“ You, You have to go to Merlin, okay, stra-straight away. Athos listen to me, pr-promise me, go straight to M-Merlin once I’m, once I’m…. “ He couldn't say it, not to Athos, not to Porthos. They were his family after all, and he could see it in Athos’s eyes, his uncontainable fear of just that, Death. 

Aramis could feel it now, death, he could feel it rapping around him, intensifying his own fear. He hadn't forgotten what death felt life, no he could never forget it, but to FEEL it again was unbearable, cold unwelcome hand molested him, he couldn't fight and he knew it, the cold owned him, and god, he hated it.

“ Aramis everything is going to be okay, the ambulance is on its way, we’ll get you to a hospital, everything is going to be fine.” Athos rushed out, noting that Aramis’s grip on his arm had weakened tremendously. 

“ Ath’s promise m-me yo’ll go t-t-to Merlin, Pro-promise me.” He must have slurred and stuttered it with such importance that Athos listened or maybe the bond told Athos that Aramis knew he wasn't getting out of this one.

“ okay I promise, I promise.”

With that out the way, all of Aramis’s energy seemed to slip out of him, the blood loss finally taking its tole. He pushed his head back, Athos let him go, going back to the wound and the now saturated flannel. Numbness over took Aramis, he would of preferred the pain, it was something tangible, it was grounding, it was living. But this numbness he was familiar with. Death would soon take him, take him away from his brothers. He had never loved anyone more then he loved his makeshift family, alcohol soaked, and violent as they where, they where his. He hated himself for what was happening, he was leaving them and if they ever saw him again in the upcoming war that they knew little of, he would be Morgana’s puppet, a toy for her to throw at them. They would have to kill him, and probably more then once knowing his track record of staying dead. He hated himself for what he would be forced to do. He hated himself, and god he hated the cold.

A curse in the snow, alway the cold.

He could taste it now, blood on his lips.  
Athos locked eyes with him once more, Aramis couldn't help wonder if this would be the last time. Porthos began to scoop him up so he sat upright, curled in his big brothers lap, away from the offending cold of the snow. But Aramis was too numb by now to feel any body heat from the big man, but the comfort he would gladly accept. He hadn’t noticed until now that Porthos was sobbing. They weren't hysterical ones, but quite ones, that escaped every other breath. Aramis began to let go, he couldn't fight it, so he stopped trying. Everything seemed to grey over, his throughs simpler, unable to possibly theorise anything beyond the snow and a sort of horrid acceptance of what was going to happen next. 

Still locking eyes with Athos, the man seemed in total shock. Aramis began to realise that he was feeling that he was feeling. Such hatred for himself and such acceptance of his own death. He wasn't fighting it anymore, Athos probably saw it as some kind of betrayal. He was leaving and as far as any of them knew, he wasn't coming back.

He was getting tired now. Sleepy he smiled at Athos.

Porthos hugged him tighter, lungs still hitching on his broken sobs. Porthos pulled back a little to look into Aramis’s eyes. Aramis was stricken with the shear amount of sadness that could be expressed in one person's face, Aramis returned his best friends tear stroked cheeks and puffy eyes with a bloody teethed smile and his own tears, he didn't want to go, not really. Aramis couldn't move, too weak and tired to even try, his eye lids began to flutter.

“ No no no, stay awake Aramis, keep though’s brown eyes of yours open.” Porthos begged.

Aramis had never heard the man beg in such intensity before, he couldn't help but comply, forcing he eyes open once more. He focused on the snow-covered ground and frosty trees that Porthos seeped to frame with the angle that he was holding him tight to his chest at. The scene was so much like Savoy. But this time instead of watching his friends die, he was watching his small family lose a member. Such heartbreak in their eyes, he knew their pain. He began to think of something happy. If Athos was going to be emotionally connected to him as he go’s through this, then he would die with happy thoughts. His old family, the one of blood, came to mind along with other childhood memoirs.

“There that's it, just stay awake.” Porthos smiled down at him, it was a broken smile, the kind you would give to a child when telling them bad news. Porthos began to rock him gently back and forth. Athos was silent, he knew what was happening, he could feel it through Aramis. Aramis laboured breathing began to slow, sounding more and more like it was just too much effect in continue to draw breath and it continued for what felt like an eternity.

Athos let out a sob when he felt the connection between them break, it splintered and shattered.

They sat like that for what seemed like an eternity. Peaceful in the snow. Porthos continued to rock and whisper, pleading with Aramis to just stay awake just a little longer. Athos knew that Porthos knew that Aramis eyes where open but he most certainly was not awake. Porthos was just not going to accept it. So he rocked and muttered to a corpse.

It was only after Athos had really realised what had actually just happened, Aramis was dead, gone, just like that, that he couldn't take Porthos’s inability to accept it anymore.

“ Porthos stop”. He gasped out. But Porthos didn't stop.

“Porthos, please, please just…..just..stop”. He said again this time reaching out and touching the larger man's arm. Porthos stilled, frozen, staring down at Aramis’s open, empty eyes. Athos reached out to the body, Aramis’s limbs looking so odd with no blood running through them, so lifeless, they seemed to settle at odd, unnatural angles.

With a shacking hand he gently closed those unseeing eyes. He couldn't help but realise Aramis had done what Porthos had asked, he had kept those brown eyes open till the end, he stayed awake for it, he had done what Porthos had asked, And some how closing them seemed like defiling his last act. But he couldn't look at them with out their usual sprite glistening with in them, always a sense of wonder and a hint of mischief, they were gone now, never coming back. 

Another sob left his lips. 

Athos looked at Porthos now, the man had lost people before. When Charon had died he was overtaken with such rage for the guilty party, wanting revenge and nothing in the world had mattered more than that in that moment, it was how Porthos coped with loss. But that was not the man that sat before him now, cold and shacking from shock, cradling a corpse. The man before him was broken. Rage could not suppress the pure loss of Aramis. And Athos thought in that moment how selfish he was to be afraid that by losing Aramis he would also lose Porthos as well, and then he would be all alone.

He was vaguely aware of d’Artagnan standing a few paces back, not willing to step into the bubble of misery that surrounded them.

In the distance he could hear sirens, so out of place in the silent snowy wood that had consumed them. It disturbed the strange peace here, it didn't belong. He knew that when it finally arrived he would have to start living again, time would begin to tick, he would be taken out of this serene cold fortress that held the inseparables at this moment. The sirens didn't belong here and he hated them for disturbing this pure feeling of grief with reality, Because grief with the time that really brought meant they would have to accept it, it would make it real. And Athos was so afraid of the future that they had now, just the three of them. He couldn't see it a future worth living nor one that wouldn’t likely be lived long by any member of the remanding inseparables. 

When the ambulance pulled up, it was only then that Athos moved, swayed to his feet, and it was only to tell the paramedics they where no longer needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so there is character death, sorry, but it had to happen. And just know that I love Aramis too much to kill him off. 
> 
> And I owe comment replies I know, I will get there......eventually.
> 
> Thanks for reading and let me know about any bad mistakes.
> 
> Thanks :D


	25. Being the cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porthos doesn’t seem that upset, but Athos is just really out of it and not really paying attention and most of this chapter is from his POV, so there is that.
> 
> Porthos and Athos are both in a sort of shocked state because they don't really know what to do now.
> 
> I do feel slightly bad for almost ignoring d'Artagnan for this chapter, but I find him really hard to write especially for something like this.

The paramedics took them to the hospital, something about being in shock. They were quiet on the ride back, Porthos and Athos sat beside each other on the lino bench in the back of the van. between them and a stoic medic was a body with a white cloth over it, it was long enough to cover the entity of Aramis. NO not Aramis, not anymore. Just a body, Aramis was gone. Athos was painfully aware of the cloth as well as the other cloths in the cabinet just above his head where for one purpose, to cover dead body.

Porthos was looking at his hands, stained with his best friends blood, he couldn't take his eyes off of them. Athos didn't know what Porthos was thinking, he imagined not much from there sheer shock of what had just happened, it was too much, too much to think about right now, just existing was painful enough.

While Athos couldn't take his eyes off of the peak in the cloth over the bodies face, where Aramis’s nose is, and his dead unseeing eyes just over them, and his lips that would never smile again just below it. 

To have so much love towards one person and then have them ripped away, just like that, it didn't seem real. Some part of them being in the SIU made something like this seem so out of place like it wasn't meant to happen. Porthos could feel it now, the rage, it wasn't meant to happen, some random stabbing on the street, no it was too simple. Porthos knew people died and knew Aramis would die, but this, no. The rage was for the slice of reality that plunged its was into Aramis stomach, less than an hour ago. It was so out of place for them, in their lives of supernatural and mystery, IT DIDN'T HAPPEN, it just didn’t. The rage was there, almost enough to choke on, but the grief was there too, stronger than any simple emotion such as anger. It rapped its way into Porthos’s heart and squeezed. It made breathing hurt, it made thinking hurt, it made every fucking heartbeat hurt. Just living wile Aramis wasn't, hurt. 

—

They took the body to the basement morgue, to stick it into some small freezer, surrounded by cold lifeless mental, Porthos was taken by some nurses to be treated for shock. Athos sat motionless in the waiting room, waiting for Porthos, Aramis’s last thoughts tumbling around in his head. 

***

The boy looked down, to a young woman maybe 15 years old, long, thick, gracious like hair flowed down her shoulders and framed her face, she wore clothes that belonged in a museum, a long skirt and a corset both white with embroidered flowers on them. The young boy with matching dark brown, almost black, hair beckoned the young woman up, her disapproving glare, shifted to a full smile, eyes lighting up in the prospect of doing such a youthful act as climbing the large old oak tree. 

The boy called down foot and hand holds, till the young woman sat next to the boy looking from the hill out on to the rolling fields, with the setting sun sealing the day soon. The boy held the woman’s hand, a sense of safety and family-love washed through him. She placed a soft kiss on his temple before turning her attention to the dirt road that stretched through the fields as far as the eye can see. 

The boy looked over his shoulder, his hair getting into his eyes, a mist of dark brown hair. He looked through the branches and leaves, to a house, old historically but it looked new, glazed wood reflecting the setting sun’s rays. A woman he knows is much older then the young woman to his left, but he cant see her face from this distance. She stands purposefully on the steps that lead to the large front door. This woman evokes a different sort of love, something everlasting and constant, like a mothers love.

The boy turns back to the fields. A dust cloud behind a horse-drawn cart now sticks out in the serene view. Excitement blossoms and a grin forms on both occupancies of the tree. The boy looks back over his shoulder, where the woman has moved from her spot and is now making her way down the dirt road, she wipes anyway tears. From the boys distance its impossible to tell, but he knows there tears of joy.

He looked back to the cart still far away but it brings the sense of being complete and surrounded by family with it, and that's worth the wait.  
***

Athos didn't get it, he didn't understand, THIS was Aramis’s last thought. He assumed it was a memory, for only memory and only rarely did this happen, could be shared through an empaths link. But it didn't make sense. Aramis’s last words had been instructions, and Athos knew that Aramis knew that he was in his head. So maybe it was showing him something or telling him something. Athos just wanted it to make sense. But then again this puzzle gave him something to think about, instead of the fact that Aramis was..… 

Porthos walked up to him, snapping him back to reality. Athos looked up at the bigger man, his face the purest representation of misery and pale despite his dark skin. Athos stood, they both stared at each other for a few seconds before neither of them could take it any longer. The embrace was slow and one of comfort for both Athos and Porthos. They both sat back on the hard plastic chairs, waiting, but waiting for what, Athos could not tell anymore. 

Athos, hung his head, his chin meeting the fabric of his jumper. His eyes traced with smash pattern of red that decorated his clothing. The flowery pattern extended on to his jeans, making them stiff and stick to the skin underneath. With a surge reality came crashing down, the red stains becoming his vision. He felt bile rise and his body unconsciously gagged. Athos placed a firm hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. Focusing on not making a mess of the preside white floor.

He was lost like that till strong, big hands that could only belong to Porthos, gripped his upper arms and pulled him up. Athos opens his eyes briefly to find the world had been put on a swinging pendulum, he body swayed with his surroundings, Porthos steady him with guiding hands. He closes his eyes again when his body rolls forward with another gag. Porthos guides him and when he next opens his eyes all he can see is the porcelain of a toilet seat, where he empties his stomach. 

Once fully purged of his stomach contents, Porthos pulled him upright, pushing him back against the cubical wall till they were across from each other. “ Sorry,” Athos mumbled against his hand covering his mouth. 

The white artificially light threw grey shadows on Porthos’s skin, making his dark complexion; grey. Making the dark smudges under his eyes more propionate and defining. He looked older, lines darker that truly held the weight of the world, grief. 

“Don’t apologise,” Porthos said too quietly.

-

They took a Taxi back to the once shared apartment. Leaving d’Artagnan at the hospital with a promise that Constance was on her way to pick him up. The place rang with a silence that didn't seem to belong. A sort of distant knowledge threatened the daze both men seemed to be in. The knowledge both where ignoring, going through the motions of living without actually registering what was going on around them. The apartment had only sparse pieces of furniture left in it, a couch with no padding or cushions, the floor half carpeted, a liquor cabin that was missing one of its doors and Athos’s chair. Milady hadn’t left anything else salvageable and neither owners had had a chance to go to Ikea yet. 

Athos sat heavenly on the uncushioned couch, looking forward to where a tv used to be. The room was cold, the night's air seeping in through the boarded up windows and dim, only from the street light shining through the only intact piece of glass. The only sound was the cars below and Porthos looked for something in the kitchen. He took the time to just breath. The icy peace was something he found himself embracing like he deserved no warmth and took his self-elected punishment in the hardness of the couch frame beneath him and the blueness of his fingers, with a grim acceptance.

Athos had lost a lot of people, it felt as if death was at his doorstep, stealing away any chance of innocents he had left. He had lost a lot of people, but despite mourning and giving time after time, he never felt he had gained any experience, he would never understand it no matter how many time he lived through it, one was never like another and each time it hurt deeper and took longer to recover. But this one felt as if it would be his last like he would not recover, like this was the world now, a tumble of motions with little meaning. And he could see it, his world falling apart, not creaking and braking, able to be glued back to gather and patched up the missing parts, no, this was different, like what was left was ash, nothing that was there before. Athos felt tired, bone-deep tired, the kind that was the result of giving up.

Porthos sat to his left, the larger man groaned as he went down, aged by the event of the day, seems far older than his 34 years. Porthos passed him a glass with amber liquid inside, Athos watches as Porthos shots his own before refilling it. 

Athos looked down into the whiskey, he found he didn’t have a test for it. He didn’t know if the prospect of having one drink may open the flood-gates and he wouldn’t be able to stop, or it was simply too much to lift the glass to his lips. The older man own glass remained full as he rested it against his thigh, still clad in bloodied jeans. 

“ I'm gonna kill her,” Porthos said in an emotionless tone like it was pure fact like he had accepted committing murder. There was no anger about it, just fact, cold and hard in a way that it sparked a few embers of worry for the big man. Though Athos couldn’t find it in himself to agree or disagree as if he to already accepted that that was his ex-wife fate.

Porthos sniffled and Athos could feel his gaze on him. Athos watched as a large hand took the glass out of his loose grip, he followed it in his speechless daze and watched as Porthos gave him an almost disappointed look and shot Athos’s glass right after his own. 

“ Sorry,” Athos found himself mumbling, lips heavy and cumbersome. He didn’t really realize he apologized, like reciting lyrics that where ingrained onto the brain.

The Porthos was gone again, making more noise somewhere deep in the apartment. And Athos found himself listening to his own breathing, each one measured and controlled like he could never again go back to being unconscious of it, so horribly aware of it he didn’t notice Porthos come back till the larger man dumped a pile of clothes on his lap. Far too big to be Aramis’s despite Porthos knowing that Aramis’s clothes fit Athos quite comfortably. He got dressed without a word, not commenting on the way the jumper swamped his frame or how there wasn’t enough elastic in the sweatpants.

The both looked down to the couch, the place Athos nearly always went to when he stayed over, bare the times they drunkenly all shared one of the two kings beds in the apartment. The couch, bare without its comfortable padding and Athos was painfully aware of the now spare bed down the hall. Not that he would dare ever take it, he knew the moment Aramis fell the room had become a sort of shrine and wouldn’t even dare enter the threshold.  
“ Come on,” Porthos muttered as he leads Athos to his own room at the other end of the living space. They both settled into the mass of pillows and covers on Porthos’s bed, each on separate sides with enough room for another living body between them and Athos found himself thinking back to the last time they had all shared a bed. It had been the night or rather an early morning before they had met d’Artagnan. Aramis had had a way of worming his way in-between his two drunken friends that night, till he lay between them snug in the summer night and the two body heats on either of his sides. Athos could feel the coldness from the inside of the bed creep all over him, where body heat should be. 

Athos turned to face Porthos, the larger man had his back to him, but his shouldered hiccuped and there was a wet sound about his breathing, showing his sorrow despite trying to hide it. Athos suddenly felt guilty for neglecting his friend's feelings, but also knew not to press the larger man and thought maybe just having someone there was enough for now.

He looked to Porthos and wondered if he fell asleep right now if he would wake again come tomorrow morning, and a small part of him didn’t want to be there to witness the next day. He turned his attention to Porthos sobs and wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aramis's memory is just a happy one he thought of in his last moments, it may come up later, but it is not some major plot piece, sorry Athos.
> 
> It's him and his sister waiting for his father to come home btw's.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting, it always makes my day. :D


	26. Street-lamps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, I'm back. after like three months.  
> first up, sorry.
> 
> I literally did nothing over Christmas and have no excuse.The last month has been insanely busy for me, I'm moving out of my parent's house and away away from home, I got into uni for my double degree and got an awesome tattoo. So yer I'm busy, but that seems to be the only time I can actually write anything down with a smidgin of productivity. 
> 
> Anyway, here it FINALLY is.

***

The noise was atrocious. A sort of volume that lost all meaning. The music, a twisted country-rock thing that would only be in a place like this. The insistent screeching, too high pitched for Athos’s voice to reach his ears, even with the older man sitting on the bar stool right next to him. Athos himself, after giving up all hope of an actual convocation in this place, turned to his finger of whiskey and the bar nuts in the chipped ceramic bowl in front of him. 

Porthos himself didn’t care much. They where here drinking and that's about all that mattered. The bars and pubs, the drinking, It had become his new think, and probably had Athos to blame for it. No, he definite had Athos to blame for it. Athos, before, had seemed like a snobby rich kid, who never had to work for anything. And the grumpy sod never, ever smiled, ever. But even with first impressions as bad as that, he NEEDED to give his partner a chance, and that chance just happens to show up in a dingy pub with more cockroaches then liquor. He knew it was bad. But after finally connecting with his partner at his one year anniversary of being in the SIU a few months ago and himself barely getting along with the tight-lipped detective for that, He decided he needed to do something. The drinking had its merits as well and its downfalls. One being Athos talked while he drank, but the regular Monday morning hangovers had started to reflect in his work. 

But tonight was not about getting to know the next best thing from his partner, or finally getting the man to smile. Tonight was about wallowing. Using whatever spirits would work to suffocate the guilt Porthos felt. It had happened on Wednesday, and being the good employee he was, he waited until Friday night to corner himself and his emotions. The case had ended badly, the suspect grabbed a hostage off the street and used them as a human shield. And Porthos had had to pull the trigger.

He downed the rest of his drink and singled the bartender to pour him another.

He didn’t feel sympathy for the man, he had killed children, used their body parts for spells like some fucked up modern Frankenstein. Neither was it the first time he had seen someone die. Growing up on the streets had given him many many experiences. It was the recoil of his SIU issued pistol that had stayed in his mind. The heavy feel on the metal and that force from when the pulled the trigger. A sort of slow-motion version of blood and screams filled his senses. Because it was HIS first time killing someone that mattered since he got back in the civilian world. And suddenly seeing death from years ago as a bystander or his time in the army didn’t hold the same compartmentalism as what happened on Wednesday. Death happened Porthos knew that he wasn’t ignorant that there were bad people and good people in the world. But here away from landmines and dust swept wildness that was war… He honestly didn’t know why it shocked him so much.

He rubbed the spot where his thumb met his palm with a horrid vigor, the memory of the pistols forced recoil engraved on his never. Athos shifted to his right and put an uncharacteristically gentle hand over his to freeze the insistent rubbing. Porthos looked up meeting Athos’s pointed stare. He sighed and turned his back to the bar to scan the room and its occupancy, hoping for some kind of distraction. 

He looked over through the throng of people as the door opened, the artifice light from the street lamp outside silhouetted the figure in the entrance. Porthos would normally dismiss the new member to the crowd, but as the door swung shut behind him, the figures feature came in focus and He had an odd moment of shocked disbelief before he was running. Or rather waving fast between old bearded men and cigaret stained women. He didn’t think to stop and make sure that it was his old friend and not some desperate alcohol-fuelled hallucination to help him in his time of need. He just sort of ran at him and hoped for the best.

The figure, after his own shocked pause, hugged back. “ Porthos,” the man whispered, stunned, happy and relieved all at the same time.

***

Porthos woke with a jolt, dream melted into reality. All of his senses stung impossibly high. He could have sworn he heard his name being called, could still hear Aramis’s voice echo in his bedroom. Breathing heavy, he listened and when nothing but his own labored breathing. 

“ Please please please,” he whispered into the night, not yet ready to give up the smidgen of hope he had blindly grasped onto. He knew it was in his head, he knew it was. But just…just maybe it wasn’t.

Porthos stood, making as little noise as he could, in fear of Athos waking. He silently made his way out of his room, down the hall and into Aramis’s room. He stopped frozen at the door. The bed was still army issue made, no mug of tea on the nightstand, no jacked swung across the chair in the corner. Everything was so perfectly straight and neat and wasn’t right. It wasn’t lived in. Aramis had been neat, Porthos knew. And the younger man had always started the day neat and orderly. But by the end of it, all the room would be chaos and then Aramis would clean it all as part of his nightly ritual. 

Porthos’s breath had become shaky, he hadn’t even noticed the way his hands shook either.

Porthos didn't really know what to do, he didn't have a plan or a solution because the world seemed to not matter. Later, if you asked him, he wouldn't be able to tell you how he made it into his Aramis’s room or how he had even got home from the hospital yesterday. He sat on his best-friends blue, double bed, consumed by his own grief and completely lost to the world around him.

The memories of the park jolted from second to second and seemed to be put together in his mind like a stop-and-go animation that missed a few shots. Just a mess of colour that didn't make sense. But the sound. The noise of Aramis’s breathing and how it just seemed to slow till he couldn’t tell exactly when it stopped, that would never lose its clarity and Porthos knew it. He leaned forward, covering his face with his hands, dark hair fell, hanging around his face, hiding him from the oppressive light from the street-lamp shining through the blind-covered window.

Even now with the memories of the incident, he waited for the younger man to walk into his room and complain about Porthos sitting on his neat bed. The argument wouldn't last long, it never did. The half-hearted insults would turn into brotherly banter before either of them knew it. So Porthos sat and stared at the open door and waited for the old memories to repeat itself. He knew they wouldn’t, they would never argue the way they always would, with horrid words that weren't ever meant and could so quickly be forgiven, they have only just fixed the break in there relationship. And now Porthos looked to where the gap between them had been and to the man who was equally as responsible for it as he, and found no-one, just as space where someone should be.

The apartment was quiet and a lonely coldness had seeped into its blue painted walls, in the few hours he had been out; and the world had changed. The walls only half filled with memories mocked him with the promise of more. They had redone the whole place when Aramis had moved in, painted the walls gotten new furniture, rearranged the kitchen. It had been fun and it made the fact his best-friend living with him permanently, actually a thing. But now the nights spent arguing about where the tv should good and the fond but slightly humiliating memory of getting high off of the blue paint now on the walls when Aramis refused to open the window because of the autumn chill, none of it seemed worth it. His eye threatened tears but he couldn't cry for the memories that would never happen or the life that would never be lived. The tears refused to fall, still frozen in shock.

Morgana had ruined it all. His life that he had put together so meticulously to suit himself and his makeshift family, to block out his misguided childhood. She had taken away Aramis and all the light in the world with him. Porthos could laugh at the injustices of the world, but he couldn't find it in himself to make a noise and destroy the horrid calmness that became his reality. The only light in the now ownerless room was the orange luminescent glow from the alarm clock on the bedside table. It told him that the sun would rise soon. It would spread its light across the city and slowly the streets would come alive. Porthos cursed it for its faultless timing. For as it rose, he would have to move, he would have to live and breathe. It would disturb the morbid peacefulness, he had trapped himself in since returning from the hospital with Athos. To move out of his ball of grief and misery would be to accept it, to make it real and Porthos knew he couldn't face that.

Porthos heard the door open fully, he didn't care who entered. He heard footsteps weighed down by the knowledge that the world would never be the same. Only then did Porthos look up, to meet the sorrowful face of Athos. Athos knew when he needed comfort, knew when he was welcome or not, that was where Athos had differed from Aramis. Aramis always made himself welcome even if you didn’t want him there in the first place.

Athos came over to the bed, he paused by the bed waiting for permission to enter the tangled mess of misery the Porthos had built around himself. With a still nod, Athos sat down on his brother's bed, close enough for their arms to touch but not close enough to be crowding or imposing. Porthos turned to meet the ever composed man beside him, he opened his mouth to utter words he didn't want to believe. But no words seemed to be able to get past the lump in his throat, it sat lodged there, refusing to budge.

Before Porthos could find his voice, Athos spoke,  
“ I know,” small and quiet. The words echoed inside Porthos’s head. His dark eye reached for some kind of hope in his friend's vibrant blue ones.

The words made it real. Made it solid and sat at the bottom of Porthos’s chest. They cut into his heart with a pain he didn't think possible. The tears that had threatened all night but had refused to fall, started flowing down his cheeks like a waterfall. Porthos pulled his friend in close, the embrace was messy but Porthos was lost to the world as he drowned in his own tears. The broken man clung to his friend in a desperate attempt to find a slither of hope in the world. Athos however, couldn’t explain why Aramis was dead. He couldn't give him reassurance that everything was going to be okay, because it wasn’t, not for both of them.

“ I know,” Athos whispered to the room, knowing that Porthos couldn't hear his words; too choked up in his own sobs to register them. The world had changed and they both knew it would never hold the same light as it did yesterday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. 
> 
> No promises for when the next chapter will be up, but the one after it had been written so it will happen. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. :)


	27. The run begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, long time no see.
> 
> It has been forever, but I'm back. Iv been working on other stories that have invaded my brain. 
> 
> After this one thing should pick up, plot-wise not production wise. I promise nothing. But the end is nearing so a lot has to happen.  
> I don't really like this chapter, but here it goes.

Athos, with Porthos, sat and watched as the sun rose, lighting up the thick grey clouds that threatened more snow. Athos dare not move, Porthos’s head rested against his thigh. A heavy reminder of the big man's vulnerability no more than ten minutes ago. Now Porthos slept, drained from the tires and grief. Too much had happened too fast and this war Morgana had brought to their doorstep, Athos couldn’t see them winning. Almost didn’t even want to now, now they weren’t together anymore. 

The four SIU cops with unorthodox methods but with faultless results. That wasn’t a thing anymore. Just memories and Athos didn’t want to think of the laughs and the arguments, the boring days or even the times he could have strangled the Spaniard. None of it, because there wasn’t one Moment in the last ten years that Aramis wasn’t a part of. And before that, only memories of another brother he had failed. Twisted and murdered by the same siren, his Anne. Beautiful cunning, crazed in away Athos couldn’t understand. Athos had never wanted to hate someone more.

But that was it wasn’t it. He didn’t hate her, couldn’t hate her. He hated himself that was a given. But he could remember the way she smiled, the way the sun seemed to aim for her, light her up, make her even more magnificent. Athos is no idiot, or at least not now. Now he knows he was likely manipulated into that kind of sole burning love. But that kind of spell could take away the pain he felt right now, part of him wanted it to. The other part, however, was horribly aware of how he deserved it, to feel like this, to keep losing people. To never find the peace he had thought he had gained with his brothers. Since d’Artagnan had entered the fray, the much younger man had settled Athos. Grounded him. In a way, he hadn’t expected. Like he had always been waiting for the other three men and d’Artagnan had just taken that little bit longer to find them.

Porthos shifted on his lap, head flinched to the right, hand curled into a tight hold on his sweatpants. Athos leaned down trying to see if Porthos had woken. Suddenly the larger man sat up, almost hitting Athos in the head on his way. 

“ Aramis,” Porthos gasped and snatched at the air in front of him. 

Grabbing nothing, Porthos tumbled head first off of the bed and onto the floor where he landed in an odd pile. Athos, lowly as to not startle the obviously jumpy man, slid off the bed and sat next Porthos as he tried to sit upright and look around for their missing friend all at the same time.

“ Porthos,” Athos snapped, getting Porthos’s attending he could’ve done in any other way. “ It’s okay,” Athos said, then flinched at how obvious of a lie that was, they would never be ‘okay’ again. “ your safe,” he added quickly, at least that much was true, or at least for now.

Porthos now realizing where he was, escaping the very vivid memory of only 12 plus hours ago. He seemed to crumble where he sat on Aramis carpet. Shoulders folding in, he took a shaky breath and brought his hands to his face.

Athos sighed and looked out of the blind-covered window. He hoped it wouldn’t snow. Athos watched patiently, waiting for… he didn’t know what. A reaction that spoke of their joint misery, acceptance that would end with a sad smile, or maybe even a punch to the face. He knew he at least deserved the last one.

Instead of any of these reactions, Porthos looked to Athos’s left with a frown pinching his forehead. Athos, slightly confused himself, followed the larger man’s gaze. Around the side of the bed, near the window lay a duffle bag. Blue and overflowing with a mad selection of Aramis’s belongings. It spoke volumes of the messiness and hazardous way the bag had been left. So unlike Aramis.

Porthos reached forward and dragged the bag towards him by a black handle and began rifling through it. Athos shuffled closed from his position on the floor, curious as to what was inside as if it was a clue to Aramis’s death.

“ All of his shits in here,” Porthos growled out as he lifted a photo of the three of them. It had been to celebrate Aramis first case solved as a team in the SIU. They were all smiling in it, even Athos. Porthos throw the framed photo on to the bed and pulled out a startlingly sharp dagger from within the duffle bag and put it aside. The rest was just clothes the dagger being the only thing of any interest Despite its pointed blade, the dagger looked more ornamental them anything else, silver vines encircled the handle. Athos would hate to think how much something like this would cost and worse, why Aramis was planning to run off with it. 

“He was fucking leaving wasn’t he?” Porthos looked at Athos, confusion and a hint of desperation in his voice. 

And Athos didn’t have anything to say, except that that was what it looked like. So instead of shattering the last thing Porthos had, he just shrugged. He was lost, so painfully lost. Like Aramis had led him into the ocean, given him a safety net, making him feel safe. Then left and took anything that would keep him afloat with him. Aramis had left and lied and if Milady wasn’t there to take the blame, Athos would have accused Aramis, blamed him and maybe even hated him.He didn’t know how to help himself let alone someone who looked up to him. 

Porthos not finding his answers in Athos’s shoulders or in his glassy eyes, flopped onto his back with his right arm over his eyes and his left still loosely gripping the dagger.

It reminded him of Thomas when their mother had died. That look, utter confusion mixed with desperation, looking to him for answers, answers he didn’t have. And at this moment was when Athos felt like he had failed most. When he couldn’t help Aramis and now Porthos, the person Aramis was closed too, the only thing he properly cared about, was breaking before his eyes. HE had gotten Thomas killed, HE had gotten Aramis killed and HE was the reason Porthos was falling apart. It was at this moment Athos thought Milady had won because he didn’t have anything left to fight for. A hollow silence took over the room, both men at odds with what to do next and how to move on, even if they could. Athos didn’t care about vengeance anymore, not really, he just wanted Aramis back.

An insistent rapping against the front door echoed through the virtually empty house, making both men tense. Porthos sat up, clutching the dagger tightly in a callused hand, Athos took a bat that rested against the night-stand. The door thundered again. Athos lead Porthos down the hallway, barely lit by the early morning light.

As they entered the bare and bloodstained living room, the front door crashed in. Both men raised their selected weapons, ready to fight for their lives or possibly die fighting. 

They readied themselves for a fight. As the assailant turned the corner into the living room Athos swung the bat and Porthos shouted as he charged. 

As the bat made contact with flesh and the oddly dressed figure yelped. Athos went to bring down the bat again when the figure shouted, “Stop,” Athos froze, “ What the hell are you doing,” The figure shouted from the floor as it removed its hood.

Athos and Porthos both deflated when Merlins piercing blue eyes glared accusingly at them both.

“ Oh my god,” Porthos exclaimed and sank to the floor, back pushed up against the wall, head between his legs. 

Athos dropped the bat and sat texted to the big man, legs sprawled out in front of him. “ What are you doing here, you're meant to be finding Milady,” Athos knew they looked back, grey skin and bloodshot eyes, he wondered what it was like from the outside looking in.

“Well,” Merlin said while he swung his arms back and forth. Nervousness seemed to seep for his pours, Athos had a hard time stopping it from getting to him. It made his own skin tingle and fingers twitch. The smashed window made him wary of entry points and now the front door was caved in, he felt far to open. “I was,…… And then I got distracted and then…by chance… I figured out how to kill her, I was thinking about last time she was around and well..” 

“ Just get to it, Merlin!” Porthos shouted from his position next to Athos, head now up and a furry in his eye Athos had expected much sooner from the big man. 

“ Sorry. Anyway, Aramis had part of this sword Excalibur, or at least I think he has it. Where is he anyway?” Merlin rushed out.

Silence.

Neither man said a word, Athos wasn’t sure if Porthos expected him to tell Merlin. But the words seemed too heavy, too big. They held so much weight that Athos found himself fearing it. Or maybe it was Merlin he could feel, frightened at the strained silence and the obvious depressive state they both were in. 

“ Where is he?” Merlin asked again, voice a little high, arms now still by his side.

Athos felt Porthos’s eye on him, but he kept his eyes down and tried to focus on his own emotions. Sifting through the mess of threads that led to both Porthos and Merlin, fear and anticipation mixed with utter misery and something that words couldn’t quite define, but if Athos had to he would say it was like what wishing for death felt like. Just something anything to make it go away.

“ He’s dead,” Porthos voice was as hollow as he felt. 

Athos could pinpoint the exact moment the knowledge sunk into the wizard's mind. Because it hit him hard, like a brick to the stomach. The shock and grief all rolled into one barrelled into him, making him physically curl into himself.

“ What do you mean he’s dead?” And there is was disbelief and a smidgen of hope. Something Athos had learned to hate.

“ Yesterday, stabbed in the park, the one with the big trees around the rim. We think it was probably Milady. Trying to get him out of the way…. Or something like that anyway. It was too intentional and otherwise meaningless.” There was bitterness in Porthos’s voice. But Athos as connected as he was, could feel the hate and pure rage that was kept in Porthos’s strained muscles. “What the fuck do we know anymore.” The slight chuckle afterward was anything but joyful.

Athos still couldn’t find words to comfort Porthos. As integrated into his surroundings as he was, he could barely focus on breathing. 

“ Well, where is he now?” Merlin asked, a little dumbfounded by the news. The confusion Merlin was passing on made Athos head spin and suddenly everything was just that little bit too much. Light a little bit too blinding, noise too defining. 

“ Why does it fucking matter anyways?” Porthos’s voice swam in and out of focus. But he could still detect the anger, Porthos was furious, not at Merlin, but Merlin was there questioning him and it had no-where else to go. Athos felt a large hand rest on his shoulders and wondered if passing out would be a good option. 

“ Because she can use his body, now tell me where they took him,” Merlin said with authority that Athos had only heard from the captain himself.

Athos heard Porthos rumble in response but couldn’t match the sounds to any meaning and after a moment stopped trying. 

“ Athos?” Porthos said in a calm quiet voice, Athos heard perfectly clear through the mess of noise and the sound of three heartbeats clashing together. Athos squinted open his eyes to find the big man had moved in front of him, Both large hands on his shoulders. 

Athos closed his eyes again and bent his head, trying to shield himself from the onslaught of emotions.

“No, Athos. I need you to look at me,” Porthos deep voice yet again penetrated the fog surrounding Athos’s brain. He opened his eyes again to a sad smile on Porthos’s face. “ That's it,” Porthos lifted on of Athos limp hands and placed it on his firm chest. Athos didn’t resist, never with Porthos.

“Feel that?” Athos nodded in response, “ Good, focus on that, only that,” 

Porthos had done this before, it was one of the only ways bar unconsciousness that would help Athos separate the people he had connected to. It gave Athos a starting point to untangle the web of emotions and feelings. It took time, but Athos got there in the end. Untangled it all till he was just left with Porthos, strong steady Porthos. The one that held them all together and kept them all sane.

Athos remembers a passing remark by Aramis long ago, on another night spent in his own misery accompanied by his younger-less-prone-to-self-destruction friends. The younger man had proclaimed Porthos to be like saint Jude, The Saint of lost causes. And Athos was inclined to agree. The big man often dealt with there problems head-on and straightforward. He was saintlike in his patience. Himself forever lost in his own misery and Porthos always there to bring him back. Athos didn’t know where he would be without him now. And they would all be needing him now more than ever. Athos had to wonder if Porthos would need his own saint Jude now that Aramis wasn’t there to help him along, or give him purpose. 

But still now, with Athos lost in his own mess of feelings and so vicious connected to everyone else that he can’t discern his own thoughts. He is there, patient, comforting, A heavy REAL hand on his shoulder guiding him back to reality. Porthos would push the pain away, the confusion and Athos was always left with less of himself and more of Porthos, but it worked. He always preferred Porthos’s mind to his own.

Porthos stood, dwarfing Athos even further than just in his mind. The big man helped Athos stand, gave him a moment to pull his mask of stoicism back together. They looked at each other and together they turned to Merlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any big mistakes as always let me know.


	28. Fridges and Frost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this isn't a long chapter. And the next one hasn't even been started yet so I don't know when it will be up.
> 
> And I know iv sort of skipped out on all of the boring chatter, and explanations because I figured you lot have figured it out by now. 
> 
> If anything is super unclear let me know and the boys will have a chat in the next chapter to explain it.
> 
> Enjoy.

They were empty. The body shaped freezers where all empty, cold and alone and horribly empty. Porthos didn’t know quite what to think about that. Aramis should be in one of them. Skin pale and bloodless, stomach stitched back together. But the hospital morgue was empty, not even an elderly person who died in their sleep upstairs took residence in this heartless place. And a smudge of sharp hope had embedded its self in Porthos chest and branded its self on his aura, because if he wasn’t where the dead belonged before they were laid in the ground or turned to ash… then it must not have happened.

And that was the worst thing about hope, it was irrational, and spiteful in its manipulation. Porthos KNEW with a sort of deep knowledge that Aramis was dead, had died in his arms.

But the fridges were empty, cold and sharp metal made caresses.  
Empty.  
And so not right it made His head spin with the need or something solid, something that was fact with proof and order.

Nothing had order anymore, a mix of chaos and fleeting facts that shifted and changed with the wind. He needed structure, just something to grip and cling onto as everything changed around him. Just something while the waters calmed, at the moment it felt as if he was drowning in all that he had lost.

The big man flinched as Merlin slammed one of the fridges closed. He caught eyes with Athos before he slowly sunk to the ground. He rested there as Merlin snapped and Athos replied calmly as ever. 

After the blue-eyed man had nearly split his own sanity back at his apartment, Athos had slowly been patching himself together again. But Porthos knew, he knew of the marks and trapped emotions. But it was Athos’s way of healing or at least carrying on till Milady was dead at their feet. Porthos, on the other hand, didn’t have that patients, couldn’t lock it all up. He fed on emotions and auras, it was who he was. 

And now Porthos needed to fight, needed to scream and hurt. Finding Milady would give him that. He stood on shaky legs, leaning heavily on one of the surgical tables and tried not to think of the blood and guts that repeatable got split there.

They would get Aramis body back, lay him to rest in the earth. And if they had to go through Milady to go that, then Porthos would take great pleasure to hear her scream.

———

He opened his eyes. white. He focused harder. White with streaks of dark brown, which swayed and rippled. He tried to follow their path but they seemed determined to torment him. 

He didn't know where he was, he didn't know who he was and he didn't know if it mattered at all. His brain felt like mush, to-out-of-it to really develop a thought. He didn't know if he was really a he, he was just presuming, it felt right.  
He.  
But there was more somewhere, he was more than just he, wasn't he. A name maybe but any fact upon the matter alluded him. 

He let his chin drop to his chest, he felt something. He barely recognized it as tired, he was tired. He felt his eyelids flutter. He wanted something, needed something. 

In a vibrant burst, so out of place in the cold white world, Sleep, his brain supplied after a few minutes. He latched on to the thought, the fact. This was something. He forced his eyes to open. Determination that he still couldn't recognize bloomed. He tried desperately to figure out the puzzle that was his reality.

He focused on his hands, his fingers. He couldn't seem to muster the energy to move them. They felt hot, very hot or was it cold, very cold. The difference confused him. He settled on that it was one or the other. 

He focused on what he was looking at, something white but not as white as what he was looking at before. Skin and body came back to him. His body, he didn't know he had one of those. With the sense of a physical form came the need to cover it. It was all very confusing, but it seemed urgent. 

Next, he focused on sound, he could feel and he could see, so he should be able to hear, right? He focused. The sound of silence was disturbed by something, a crunch, then another. He looked up, squinting against the brightness of the surrounding white.

There were two things growing larger. People, yes they were people. He was a person. That seemed like an important thing to remember. 

They stopped a few meters away. They made noises with their mouths, the older one had lines on his face and grey in his hair, his voice was low and came out more like a growl. The other had long dark hair, her voice was melodious. It was sweet and enchanting in a way he wished he didn't trust.

The grey man came forward, his face depicted disgust. The grey unfolded a dark blue blanket and draped it over his lap. 

He opened his mouth to thank him for seeing to his feeling of vulnerability that came from being displayed like that, but the words refused to form. Three languages mangled together, till the sounds in his head blurred and became incomprehensible. He frowned in confusion. His tongue felt wrong in his mouth. No noise came out, and even if it had he was pretty sure it wouldn't make sense.

The grey one seeped back just behind the other. The dark haired one was clearly in charge. She came forward and knelt down in front of him. She cupped his cheeks with both hands, and turned his face slightly, inspecting it. Her hands were warm, or where they cool. Either way, they were comforting, he leaned into the softness of her palms. The motions were lost on him, but the need for their meaning became ephemeral once he got a clear view of her feature. 

She was the meaning of beauty. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, a splash of blue just above her eyes. Her lips bright red among the whitewash that seemed to be this world. She had a darkness to her beauty. A vixen who’s purpose it was to enchant and seduce, though dark means with equally dark intentions. 

She spoke “ So helpless” Her thumb moved to rub across his lower lip. “ So vulnerable.” The meaning of the words didn't make sense to him, they were just noise. 

She smiled sadistically, her cruelty and possibly her intentions were on full display.

“licentia mihi vox , quod operor meus bidding huic vultus!” Her words were thick like mud and made his breath catch in his throat. Her eyes lit gold for less than a second, before turning back to normal. 

The tiredness that he had pushed away from earlier came back in full force. His vision blurred and his head became too heavy to hold up. Her fingers stroked his cheek soothing him.

“ That's it, don't fight it.” Her voice was like a lullaby, and he followed it. Sleep and something cold that wasn't there before, called. He felt no need to not follow it. He willingly let himself fall into the oblivion that sleep offered. 

Her job was done, the spell seemed to have worked well. Her plan had been executed perfectly, even with Merlin’s attempts to slow her progress down. He had stopped her before, but this time she would use her puppet the way she should have done in the first place. His ‘cursed’ immortality would be ‘her’ weapon.

She stroked his cheek, he was a very handsome man. She understood his popularity. Now he was her handsome thing. Her main goal was for supernatural supremacy, the humans would pay for their weakness and she would have her power that she deserved. But first, she had to rid her self of her own weakness. And by using her dearest husbands close friend, she would get her revenge. She will kill Athos de la Fère with her puppet, she will watch him scream and plead. 

She ran her fingers through her puppets hair. Her plans are in motion and a sense of peace at the thought of her goals so close to being achieved made her smile. Something cruel and bitter glinted on her teeth and rose red lips.


	29. Story time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no chapter.
> 
> A shit tune of dialog in this one. The whole thing is just Merlin telling Aramis's story. Bit boring sorry, but iv started writing the action ending so, soon hopefully.

It didn’t feel right to mourn Aramis, or at least not quite yet. There was this sense of attention-seeking when d’Artagnan thought of their lost friend. He hadn’t known Aramis for long, and right this second, surrounded by books and a forgotten library in the mist of the busy Paris city. I felt wrong, too early too final. Like his short time in the SIU was over. He couldn’t imagine the other two walking out of this like they were before. 

He looked over to where Porthos sat not five meters away. The man was lost in his head again, staring at the same page for the last 15 minutes. They were researching or at least meant to be. They needed more weaknesses, all they had was a dagger that Porthos had found in Aramis’s bag that ‘apparently’ would hurt her, but that was all and not enough to risk another one of their lives with.

Damage was plain to see in both Porthos and Athos. Some twisted past that had left them broken but not shattered. But this, this visceral loss might just be the last blow. He couldn’t see an end where they won, even if the bitch lay dead before them, things would never be the same. 

The lack of a body was like a mirage framed with whatever plan Milady had to offer. But despite the obvious manipulation and taunting, almost flirting with their lives gave d’Artagnan rage rather than misery. They needed fighting power if they wanted to win, not this lethargic fog that seemed to claim both men.

Athos didn’t speak. He had become the opposite to Porthos, delving into research, page after page, book after book. Didn’t stop to eat, drink, or even follow Porthos when the larger man had begun crying and slipped out the back to properly scream and cry and wish things where different. d’Artagnan hadn’t followed to check, didn’t feel welcome in Porthos private grief.

d’Artagnan had never seen them so separate. He used to think that Porthos was the glue, holding the vibrant Aramis to the much more mellow Athos. But now…now that one third was missing, it showed how much they needed each other to stay together. Things were falling apart and d’Artagnan wouldn’t…couldn’t fill in Aramis’s spot.

It didn’t feel right to mourn like he didn’t have a right to. Not when things were falling apart for Athos and Porthos, not when he had only known Aramis briefly. Hadn’t had the time to actually ‘know’ him. He had gotten the preview version, and crying, sobbing, screaming felt reserved for people that knew Aramis in such an innate, ingrained way, rather than just the surface layer. But that berating voice in the back of his head didn’t make it hurt any less.

If anything, D’artagnan was mourning the missed opportunity. Knowing there was more to know of the surprisingly mysterious man, and missing out on it. Mourning what could have been, a friendship that could have blossomed.

I wasn’t like when his father died, not even that long ago. It wasn’t like that. Like something solid and permanent had been taken from him. That was what the others were feeling. But the pain felt real but not rightful, and hope made it burn and sing because there was a chance that Aramis was out there. And a chance he wasn’t. d’Artagnan wasn’t quite ready to give up just yet.

———

Merlin walked into the old bookstore, obviously lost more in his own head as he ignored Athos calling his name. Porthos lifted his head and watched the old wizard, who currently wore his much younger features. The wizard entered the little room they had calmed, walls of book shelve and privacy was only available because the bookstore was currently empty. Otherwise, secrets would all to easily seep into the surrounding space as the conversation grew from one-word answers to shouting.

“ For fuck's sake, Merlin,” Athos shouted again. This time though, the wizard stoped his seemingly endless wondering to look up into those piecing blue eyes. “ I want… We, want answers,” 

“ What do you want to know?” Merlin question calmly, as if they actually had something to go on. Which they didn’t. Maybe this is why Porthos felt so lost right now, they knew nothing that could actually help them as well as Himself and Athos not being able to actually have a conversation without yelling at each other. 

“ Anything,” Athos yelled back. Athos waited expectantly as Merlin sank into one of the old wooden chairs that surrounded the table that held all they could find on the necromancer. 

When it was clear Merlin wasn’t going to say anything Porthos could see the anger bubble in Athos. A sort of fury that stemmed from frustration and grief. Athos and Porthos moved simultaneously. Porthos stood as Athos moved forward.

“ Say something you bastard,” Athos Said As he shook his the much smaller man from his loose clothes. Porthos hand firmly on Athos shoulder, maybe squeezing a little too hard.

“Okay okay. Just give me a minute, I have to start at the beginning,” Athos realized him and the wizard fell back on to his own feet. Shrugging of Porthos’s hand, Athos went to sit across from Merlin. Setting his cold stare only used during interrogations, at the seemingly younger man. Hardened criminals often broke from that very stare.

“ Well it started a very long time ago,” Merlin began

“ How long?, Don’t leave anything out. We’ve been left in the dark long enough,”

“ About 6th century, over 1400 years ago. Aramis had a different name back then. One I’m sure you’ve all heard before, Lancelot.” They all turned at d’Artagnan’s gasp. Merlin continued, “ The first time I met him, he saved my life. A lot happened but in short, I got him to be one of Arthur’s Knights. He fell in love. But it was not to be, Arthur had eyes for the same woman.”

“ Gwen,” d’Artagnan whispered.

“ Yes Gwen, but unlike the tale, Lancelot didn’t pursue it. And just like every fairytale, there was a bad guy, Morgana. and a veil was opened between the two worlds, living, and spirit, it’s like a little pocket dimension for all of the bad dead things in the world. The Dorocha came through. People were dying everywhere. Left icy and still. A blood sacrifice had to be made for it to close. There was little discussion over the matter, there was only Arthur, Lancelot and myself. I wasn’t going to let Arthur do it and Lancelot wasn’t going to let me do it. I tried to stop him.

He just went for it. Walked straight into a dark abyss, not knowing what was going to happen or what even existed in that place. Ridiculously reckless that man,” The smile on Merlin's face was fond one, but lacking a certain happiness to it.

“ That doesn’t explain anything Merlin,” Athos voice was laced with frustration.

“well, if things were left there then it would have been fine. But Morgana had to play her games. She brought him back, not straight away, but she brought him back. The problem was, its a lot easier to bring someone back from the dead than from the veil. And she wanted a puppet to mess with not someone with a conscious who would fight back.”

“ A shade,” Porthos said.

“ Exactly. So she dragged Lancelot’s soul back to the living, but only half. The other half is still trapped in the veil doing god knows what. We knew she was planning something, just like a few months back. There was a disturbance between the realms, souls going missing. She used this energy to drag half a soul across the plains. You have to understand that this wasn’t your friend who did the things I’m about to tell you, he says even now that he only remembers flashes and nothing more. Morgana made him come back to Camelot, everyone welcomed him back. He had an affair with Gwen. Got into Arthur’s head, Arthur was furious. Gwen got exiled. Arthur was going to kill him, I tried to talk him down, but id never seen him this mad before. He went after him, I followed, we found him in his room. Morgana had given him one last order, we found him with his wrists slit, dead.”

Silence filled the room. Merlin sunk further into his seat, hands ridding at his young face, clearly upset by telling the story.

“ I thought I had put his soul to rest after that. It was meant to be done. But years later, hundreds of years later, I felt it. Like a surge of power leading to clarity. He came back, near the lake we had laid him to rest at, Leon and I found him wandering around completely lost. Mind confused and muddled by whatever had brought him back he had very little clue as to what had actually happened. Didn’t remember anything clearly past entering the veil all that time ago. Leon and I taught him about the new world, 1620 by the way. He struggled to start with, no more shields or knights, but once he found his feet and got a good look at the new world he ran for it, wanting to get away from before and find himself again.”

Merlin smiled sadly, “ He hated us calling him Lancelot. kept saying it wasn’t right, didn’t fit anymore. I think that's why he left in the end. Couldn’t bare us looking at him and expecting our old friend when all that was left was a lost man, who was so blinded by his own faults, he didn’t know where to start looking for a sense of self again. Traveled across Europe in the end. Picked up the name René d’herblay along the way. I think that helped a lot, picking a new name for the new him, meant he didn’t have to pretend to be someone else anymore. He stayed in Spain for the most part, fought where he could and where there was no war to fight, sickness spread, so he fought that instead. Eventually found his way to Paris, caught the eye of the king. He became a musketeer, the king's guard. He seemed very proud when he wrote to tell me. I was happy for him, he had found a home in a place so foreign to him, still, he’s always been good with people.

But it wasn’t meant to last. Himself and a group of other musketeers took a training mission to savoy in the western Alps, snowed heavily that year. That place was a white wasteland during Easter when the mission took place. 

They were attacked in there sleep, massacred. I don’t know much, Aramis refuses to talk of it, I do know there was another survivor, that deserted and left him there, I believe that's what most of the nightmare are about. He lived long enough to see the sunrise. But was too lost to the cold to find shelter or aid for the wounds he hadn’t escaped from during the battle. Freezing to death would have been one of his more peaceful deaths if he had not been abandoned and surrounded by fallen brothers.

Then he came back again in 2004, just like before, the same powerful presence. This time he came back in the Alps of Savoy. You can imagine how confusing the internet was for him. He didn’t stick around long, found the cities too crowded with things that he didn’t understand. Joined the army, found comfort in being around familiar routines and unfamiliar faces. And you know the rest.

I don’t know why he keeps coming back, I have theories, yes, but nothing concrete.” Merlin finished, shame locked his eyes on the floor rather than meeting his audience.

“ What kind of theories?” d’Artagnan asked, innocence laced his voice in a kind of boyish youth that Merlin missed having. 

“ That he’s searching. Wherever he goes in-between his time here, on our plain I do not know. But when he is, he is always looking for something even if he doesn’t know it. I believe its the other half of his soul is that stopping him from ever moving on. Never being whole has kept him trapped here, I fear for his sanity if he never finds his other half.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know about big mistakes.   
> thanks :)


	30. Decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is super short.   
> next chapter the action starts.

It had been three long weeks. The snow melted, taking away that bitter cold and grey world with it. Spring and flowers and people smiling all seemed otherworldly. Athos still felt trapped in the cold, like it had sunk deep into his chest and wouldn’t budge for anything. It didn’t help, being in the old house where too many bad memories seemed to be an ever-present press at the back of his mind and far too many emotions for his normally stoic demeanor to handle.

They had a plan now, something to rely on, focus on. They were treating the whole situation as a hostage situation. Meaning Aramis was alive, maybe not well, but alive. And however hopeless it may seem, it was something. Athos knows how much he is clinging to the fact there was a chance things could turn out okay. That Aramis would be back with them, and they, together again, feeling whole. And maybe things could go back to what they were, a sort of fragile peace. Maybe go back to work, Treville would understand, he always did. Their superiors had tried to stay as much out of the mess they had made as possible, for more legal reasons than anything else. 

The plan, made from things Merlin knew and piles or piles of research staked like towers in Athos’s lounge, for Aramis’s and Porthos’s apartment was out of the question due to the mess and pure absence of the man that once lived there. Porthos had reluctantly gone back for a duffle bag of clothes and had set up shop with d’Artagnan on the floor, taking turns on the couch.

The plan involved thing that Athos would have much preferred to live without knowing, a sort of darkness came with blood magic. Not that Athos would be practicing any magic. That was Merlin's roll in their grand plan. But still, being so close to spilt blood and chalked ruins on his old wooden floor that had been prized by his mother. It all seem sort of wrong. But then again, the big old house had been damned long ago and now taken over by vines and those devilish blue flowers.

Everyone had their job in setting up Athos’s old house, once the plan was set they only had to wait for Anne, no Milady, to wander in. They worked around each other. d’Artagnan seemed so lost and young in the old building surrounded by weary world hardened men. It made Athos worry, in a sort of big brother way he didn’t really want to welcome. It reminded him of the fear or worrying when the younger man had been attacked by Marie months ago now. It made him want to stuff d’Artagnan away from the fighting to that he couldn’t lose anyone else.

Porthos, on the other hand, had seemed to shrink without his ever-present other half. Quiet and subdued the beast was with grief. Athos knew that Porthos wouldn’t let himself hope that there might be a happy ending. The big man had been disappointed with his lot in life too often to let hope show. It doesn’t mean it hurts any less, just makes the creaks meet till there were only shattered remains that looked something like the joyful character Porthos was, with his boisterous laughter and boyish dimples.

They worked around each other, rather than with each other. Aramis had always made them see eye to eye, would give them peace when they rarely fought. They were the calm to Aramis’s dramatics, but with nothing to sit next to each other and watch as their third would tumble around like a storm, what were they left to watch over but each other. Both strong-minded and so independent with their needs. How do you battle someone who had spent the better part of their lives hiding emotions from others, either that was auras or literal emotions didn’t matter much.

Aramis made them better. Gave them some light to there dark past despite his own hiding away. Aramis had given them freedom of their self-proclaimed cells of solitude. Despite Porthos’s easiness with people in un-proper circumstances, Athos can tell the big man's trust from him just liking a person. Trust didn’t come easy with the big man. And Athos himself was shallow in his unease with people in general, wouldn’t allow himself the time to think about such things and their importance. Till that is, Aramis walked into a bar, and Porthos, his still in his eye, new and quite unknown partner, had lite up like a Christmas tree at seeing the other man. That was the first time Athos had seen the way Aramis effects people. With such positivity and loving that came of the man in waves, it was impossible to not want that too.

Athos wary at first had begrudgingly let Aramis in before he had a chance to even ponder why such a thing would be a good idea. But Aramis had latched on and was determined not to let go. That was of course before Athos own mistakes had come to claim the ever optimist. And now they had this emptiness between them, he and Porthos. Both missing something so ingrained in themselves and they were both floundering and drowning, both ignoring that together they might just be able to float.

In the midst of the chaos of preparing their plan, Porthos pulled him aside. Hand clasped tight but not painful on Athos’s forearm, determined and desperate. “Athos,” Porthos started, he seemed unsure, like he had planned this conversation but at his first uttered word it wasn’t going as planned. “ Athos, I know you want her dead. And… and you have every right to it. And Merlin seems to want her dead and said that that would be what Aramis wanted. But…” Porthos paused, unsure. 

“ Just get to the point, Porthos” Athos found himself snapping. He’s found his temper short these days. 

“ We’re trapping her, and maybe, maybe we could cut a deal. Her freedom for Aramis.” Porthos said, unease in his voice like he felt he was asking too much.

Athos could feel that anger start to overtake his rationality, “ A deal, What are you insane.” Pulling his arm back slightly, but Porthos held firm.

“ Just listen Athos, We could get him back and his other half of his soul. Aramis would be free and with us. Please, Athos consider it, I need to know if you're with me on this.” Athos had never seen that sort of quiet desperation in Porthos before, this is what a man pleading for his life back looks like. “ I know you hate her, and I would kill her for you just to let you sleep easier at night. But this is Aramis,” Porthos voice went small, fingers tightening slightly on Athos’s arm, “ I don’t know what to do without him, I’m lost.”

It didn’t take much, Porthos’s broken voice and honesty hit home and Athos suddenly felt he had all the power. Porthos the giant had been stuck small and timid and Athos controlled his future with his next words.

Vengeance or redemption

God, he wanted her dead. He wanted her to pay because she had ruined his life. Ruined it, torn apart like the fragile thing that he had let it became. But then again…..Aramis.

And for once Athos didn’t let himself think, didn’t let himself get distracted by the want ifs and the maybes. Because it all came down to what he ‘wanted’. Not what he should want, revenge for Thomas, for the pain that woman had caused him, for the nights spent drunk out of his mind.   
But none of that seemed to matter all of a sudden, Because Aramis had sat with him when he was so drunk he couldn’t say his own name, Aramis had given him not only a brother but three, and he can't remember the last time he had cried over his inability to even consider being in love again because Aramis would just wash it all away with his presence alone. 

It should be just that simple. Aramis was part of his NEW life, part of his family. Athos opened his mouth and spoke without thinking much at all about the words he said,  
“ I'm with you Porthos, always.”  
Because that was the truth.

Next, they just had to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo  
> I have a bad habit of leaving d'Art out. sorry for all of his fans.
> 
> As always the same with any mistakes.


End file.
